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-anonymous

second guessing

I´ve only just finished typing out the last few answers about what I consider ugly and I´m already questioning whether those are really my answers or what I´m expected to answer.  A chinese crested pup can be somewhat cute, if it´s caught at the right angle.  Even an older one has a certain appeal that sends us back to a study of the Greek concept of pathos.  Maybe the pathetic little lionhead is pulling hard enough at my heartstrings that it´s actually quite adorable.  Surely something can be so ugly that it´s undeniably cute, or vice versa.

Leaving the suffering of the overlooked behind, I flip the page.

Where is home?

hace mucho tiempo

I finally wander downstairs to get the book only to open to those same words bouncing around my head during the last two hours of procrastinating.   When was the first time you were afraid? Write for 10 minutes.

Since originally sitting down (yesterday) with the purpose of answering that question, I´ve finished answering another that I had conveniently forgotten, answered the philosophically deep question of who I really am, cleared up some potential questions about Novas trip details, browsed a few blogs, and read a whole bunch of rules about writing fiction, many of which seem to contradict each other.  Still, I will do my best to avoid displaying pictures of suicidal geniuses on my non- existent desk and make sure I have two dull pencils on the plane instead of just one.

All that said, I will risk being interrupted by the sporadic skype conversation with the friend who introduced me to this beautifully challenging book, and start the clock to enter a groove where there´s not enough time to post a link on every other word.

los trastes

More than once all that got from me was the spanish version of huh? (¿cómo?) but I soon learned that in addition to the fairly obvious platos this was a common way to complain about the dirty dishes, which never seemed to be in short supply.

In an attempt to blog through the book´s prompts before it goes back to the library on… oh wow. Sunday.  Or I can renew it and push back the inevitable paying of the 60 cents due 3 years ago for another two weeks.  Either way, I´m trekking my way through and although the book is downstairs next to a big brother sleeping on the couch (although you honestly can´t expect silence at quarter til 1 in the afternoon), I know enough about what´s next to take a stab at it.  (Besides, there´s always the handy cheat sheat).

Tell me about a time you washed the dishes.  This shall be fun!

Page break.

I look at the next prompt and decide that can wait for another day.  Monday.  5:00pm.  What would I normally be doing on a Monday afternoon?  Exactly three weeks ago I had just arrived in Houston for a few days of debrief.  In Nica, Monday evenings, from 5:30 – 6:30 were reserved for Vida Joven prayer with planning at 7.  I’ve talked to Yener, the VJ leader and he assured me that the prayer is still going strong, although they have moved from the prayer house in the back of El Puente to a different leader’s house each week.  That’s cool though.

As God powerfully showed me two weeks ago as I knelt about this time, location really doesn’t matter.  He hears our prayers, whether they’re written out in a notebook (like the last 3 of my 7 journals I finished on the trip), whispered in a back closet of the mind, or said loudly so others can join in.  English, Spanish, or whatever language He just taught me it doesn’t really matter for He can understand us even when we don’t.

When was the first time you were afraid? I don’t know, but I’m glad I wasn’t alone.

oops…

It’s about 4:45 so I head downstairs to get grab something to drink and decide since the rain storm ended a few hours ago it’s safe to reopen the windows.  In the few short minutes away from what is becoming quite a cozy lair, I managed to put a halt to my mom’s card game and get her as glued to a computer screen as I have been.  Maybe.  I left while she was reading the first. 

Opening the book up again though, I remember that I skipped a question on the test.  Aaghh!!!  Breathe! There’s no grade and I won’t fail.  It’s not the only question I skipped either, but this one wasn’t on purpose so instead of going back and updating the old, I might as well share my answer here.

List 10 smells.  Be specific.

Tell me everything.

Jell-O [...] Let it rip.

Café

Tell me about how you drink coffee.  When? Where?  If you don´t drink it, tell me how you stopped…Everything you know about coffee. Go.  Ten minutes.

Moving on

It’s hard to believe, but it’s almost three already.  I feel like I’ve been at this all morning, yet it’s oddly refreshing, theraputic, and quite addicting.  Just yesterday I was telling a friend about how I finally updated what was originally supposed to be the spanish version of this blog (actually, this was supposed to be bilingual and that parallel site resulted out of knowing two in one probably wouldn’t work) but how I had no desire to write an update in my native language.  Spanish can be more fun, there’s a bit of a mask and I don’t feel quite as pressured to be deep.  I wrote about how in Nicaragua I often felt like I should, but didn’t have much to share since every week was more or less the same; since I had free time, much like now, and learning the guitar, or reading through Judges, or laughing on the porch wouldn’t have been enough to keep people’s interest.  I wrote about how similar a quiet afternoon can feel in various locations and acknowledged that there’s nothing wrong with spending that time to pursue God-given passions.  So I’ve got at least a good few more hours to dig a bit deeper and seeing where this path leads, especially once this volume ends.

Name three times when it came to you clearly that you wanted to write a memoir.  Go.

Um…

I look at the little cheat sheet I made when I didn’t think the book itself would be available and scuffle through the papers hoping that all I have to do is copy down what another me already wrote, but I guess my other me didn’t know what to say either.  Tell me what you will miss when you die. I guess the “10 minutes” is assumed so I might as well get this over with.  I set my clock up to where it’s visible, double check- yep my Skype is on invisible, and wonder how my first typing prompt may be different from the rest.  We’ll soon find out, for the time starts now.