Ramble on!

                I really hate writing this blog. I’ve never really enjoyed writing much as it is, but writing for a blog seems to be the worst thing I’ve been required to write for a composition class. I don’t understand what blogging is doing for my language skills. I have been reading some of the others’ posts in Blackboard, and their writing is atrocious. I truly wonder if their teachers passed them simply to be rid of them.

               When I am in classes, I love being challenged, but it feels as though this English Comp course has become very lackluster. Instead of actually challenging young minds, it just gives us a ton of regular “busy work”; at least, that is what I feel. I had been under the impression that this was a class that promoted creative writing. When you set boundaries and limits on the number of words and subjects, you are squelching the creativity that lies within writing.

I’m really just rambling today, because I have nothing pressing on my mind that I would care to write about. I seriously was considering refusing to create a blog for this class. I don’t like blogs, and I don’t like being forced to create an account for yet another online service that I have no desire of using. Not only that, but now what I write on it is out there, for the whole world. I think it’s pretty screwed up to require a blog for “free writing”. Just give us a threaded discussion board that allows only the instructor to read the submitted documents.

Anyway, I’m nearing the end of my goal number of words for this post, and thank goodness, because I really don’t want to write any more tonight. I’m tired from work, school, and lack of sleep from last night. And that’s Jenga.

Future

               I like to imagine my life five years from now, or, rather, where I long for my life to be at that time. I have married my fiancée, and that year will be our fifth wedding anniversary. God willing, Fiancée will have been able to adopt my children, and the love of our family grows stronger by the day. SugarBear will be 10 years old (10! I can’t even imagine that well enough), and Bunny will be 8. Our cat, Pebbles, will probably be bread-loaf size by then, and hopefully a lot more mature and calm. I would love to have a dog. Maybe Newfoundland, maybe Welsh Corgi. Just depends.

               Fiancée and I dream of a large, multi-story home on acres of farmland, where we can begin semi-self-sustainability with a large garden, a few cows, horses, chickens, and fruit trees. We would love to be in a position to adopt and to foster children, to bring in more people to our family and fill them with loyalty and love. I like to imagine owning a computer repair business, and, of course, it becoming successful. Fiancée would be part stay-at-home mom, part art shop owner, all superhero.

               The images that make my heart most glad are the ones where the children run around our yard playing touch football and hide-and-seek; the ones where I hear tip-toeing across the hall to visit one another in the early hours of the morning; the ones where we take road trips to Nana and Pop’s house, singing and laughing the whole way.

               I don’t know how to get there, or when we will, but I hold on to that hope and I strive to make it a reality. I can’t wait to add to our family, with more children of my own and others that we are blessed with having.

What if it does?

               You can never be free from love. It traces your footsteps to your childhood home and ruins all your secret hiding spots. It curls up in your favorite blanket and crumbles your solace when that break-up was just too much. Love trails behind you as your feet drag over a well-worn walking path in the woods where you only took the most worthy. Love cracks the peace of everyday life in the sticks, where everyone knows what happened the night before and every night since.

               And yet, we crave it. We need love like we need nothing else. It gives a fullness that neither food nor knowledge can provide. While one fills the requirement for the nourishment of the body and the other for the mind, both are still found to be lacking.

Love fills up your soul. It gives you a pressure in your chest, causing all sorts of havoc. It pushes you to tell all your secrets and rips your chest open, your innermost self entirely exposed. Love is foolish that way. It is such a desperate need that all else is tossed aside to make room.

Love is dangerous. To share yourself with another person, completely… it’s daunting. It’s humiliating when you aren’t smart about with whom you share. Love makes you callous after that. Guarded. Hurt. Maybe even a little selfish. After sharing once, and seeing the world crash all around, why do it again? Surely, it would stand to reason that after such tragedy, one would stop trying to love.

But it comes back. When you don’t expect it and definitely when you start to not want it. It comes back like a whipped puppy dog, begging you to try again and take it all back. Start over. Breathe. Redo. Love is foolish. But I want it. I need it. I have it.

“It is a risk to love. What if it doesn’t work out? Ahh, but what if it does?”