Don't Know Why I Didn't Come

It's definitely too late for apologies so i shan't bother. I wasn't here for Christmas and neither was I for New Year's. Sue me.

Decembers have always been and always will be my most occupied time of the year. And if it were a race, my Januaries would come in second. But i'm not being read for my daft excuses as to how busy I was the past couple of months, neither am i being read for my boo-hoo reasons of why i shouldn't have even started a blog anyway due to my severe lack of discipline for it.

Come to think of it, I have no idea why i'm still being read. (Using this opportunity to thank the two of you who log on religiously to get your daily supply of Pocket Tissues.) All I know is, it's a new year.

Gosh, I have to let that sink in. It's a new year!

Too late to mourn for lost time, too late to make resolutions, too late for apologies. What's my new year good for? At least, that was the exasperating question that has been swirling off the top of my cranium for the past few days. It isn't anymore.

I have been suffering gastiritis for the past week. That's what the doc said anyway. Well technically, no. He suspected indisgestion, but experienced buddies told me that it was really gastric pains that was sending my stomach AWOL. Nothing Actal pills couldn't cure though.

*whispers*

I've always just suspected that it was an insurgence of little purple smurfs, having the time of their lives just hacking away at the walls of my fragile stomach.

It's my stomach. I have a say too.

But going through the pain for a week, I felt almost robbed of my time. There was just so much i wanted to do, but i was so restricted by my cage of pain then that all i could do was just sit around and be sick all day. I couldn't so much as breathe without aching. i resolved to thinking instead. Brilliant idea, right?

Wrong.

"What's the new year for then?" I interrogate myself. Do i feel any 'newer'? Do I forget mistakes of the past and press on with much valor only to make new ones? And if one is allowed to be sarcastic, the purpose of the new year would be: EXASPERATION. Hah!

Truthfully, I think I'm just tired at the fact that I'm human. I'm exhausted at the thought of making my kajillionth mistake for the kajillionth time! But then again, who isn't tired? Why be like everybody else? Why be tired? Why be human for that matter?

Blah.

So yeah, gastric-smurfaritis does that to people. It causes you to think of things you really don't want to. they cause you to make heavy attempts at answering rhetorical questions. They cause you to think like the loneliest, and the most insignificant person on the planet - and then when it leaves....

.....Hoho, if the bleeding pain ever leaves, it leaves you in want... in the sickening desire to actually have answers to impossible questions.

Sigh.

I miss being human in my innocence. I miss being able to be human and still dream. I miss being human and the ability to be reckless.

Lord, help me learn from my mistakes. Not cower behind the fact that I've done them and suffered the ugly consequences.

Lord, help me live.
Lord, I can't wait for the Switchfoot concert!

So, what's my new year for?

For unborn ideas waiting to be delivered.

For dreams yet to be dreamt.

For goals yet to be achieved.

For love yet to be conceived.

For healing yet to complete.

For mistakes yet to occur.

For friends yet to be made.

For the God yet to be experienced.

And all bleeding thanks to gastric-smurfaritis! Hurrah!