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Sometimes, Things Bug Me
by Sara Harricharan
4/29/2010 / Short Stories
Sometimes things bug me. Sometimes I don't know what to do about them. Sometimes I don't do anything. Other times, I wish I hador hadn't. It is so hard to be nice and polite sometimes.
Most of the time I want to scream.
Maybe people would notice me that way. Or they would think I'm crazy.
I'm not crazyreally. Not up close, I mean. A little far out there because I don't attend Sunday Schoola little bit further out 'cause I've got an extra earring on one ear.
Sometimes things bug me.
Like the toilet paper roll on backwards. People squeezing the toothpaste outyou're supposed to roll the tube up. That's the way it works. Like other things in life, it's supposed to work just right if you do your best and don't cheat.
Sometimes, that really bugs me. People who do their best are usually working for the people who aren't. Not cheating means you're so surprised when someone does accuse you of such an act, you're too shocked to defend yourself.
Sometimes, you can scream.
But no one will hear you. No one in this world anyway, no one in this realm. You have to scream loud. Loud enough that He will hear you.
Sometimes I don't have to scream. I just think about screaming and then I realize where my head is. On top of my shoulders with a pinched face slapped on the front and short shallow breaths making my shoulders hunch up and down.
I don't have to scream for Him to hear me. He can wade through the noise in my head and press the off button. He has the ultimate password to my crazy program of life and I let Him make the changes.
Sometimes I want to scream anyway.
The changes aren't the kind that I really want to live with. Sometimes I don't want to be nice. Sometimes I don't have to be. Sometimes I don't want to be patient. Sometimes I need to be.
I spend hours staring into the sky. Sometimes I think I can see Him. Sometimes I think I see me. Sometimes I smilejust for a momentand hope He's taking a picture of me. I find myself wondering if He's proud, if He's seen all that I've done.
Then I remember how ridiculous it sounds, bragging about me when it was Him. Always Him. Sometimes I think He's smiling, when He sees me bouncing up and down on my toes. He knows I can't sit still. He knows I have something to say.
Sometimes, I don't need to scream. I can talk normally, like a sane personand people hear me anyway. I tell them my news and wait for their reaction. Sometimes, I don't scream. Sometimes it bugs me when they don't get it at all. I don't know how to make them understand. I don't know how to explain it.
Sometimes I really want to scream, but I cry instead. Sometimes I wish I would never cry again, but then I do. Sometimes I wish many things, for the days to stop coming, for the pain to go away for people to stop judging me.
Sometimes, I just don't know anymore. Are they judging me? The way I'm judging them? Are they seeing the same misfit I'm feeling? I could say I'm far from perfect, but I like to think I'm in the middle.
He knows it's my security blanketand sometimes He takes it away.
Sometimes I'm falling down. A faceplant in concrete. Bruises over every inch of my body, a few on the inside too. Sometimes I jump right back up, dust off the dirt and keep walking. Sometimes I pretend it didn't happen. Sometimes people believe me.
Every time, I dieHe reaches down and picks me up. Setting me on my own two feet, He brushes the dust away. He waits until the thoughts in my head settle. He waits until I've gotten over the embarrassment and shame. He waits until I am readyand then He holds his arms open.
Sometimes, I wish I could stay there forever. Sometimes I wish forever was already here. Most of the time, I try to remember and do my best to hold ontomy little scrap of forever.
Sometimes things bug me. People mixing up cereal spoons with soup spoons, empty soap dispensers and socks that don't match. Sometimes people meddle, and I really wish they wouldn't.
But, sometimes, He meddlesand every timeI've given in.
There is no screaming. There is no running. There is no whiny temper tantrum. Just another sigh. Another moment. Another almost-smile. I smile in apology and I take His hand. I wait for Him to pick me up again, undeserving stilldesperately craving to know His will.
Then, sometimes, the things that bug medon't matter anymore.
Sara Harricharan is a young Christian woman with a passion for writing for the Lord through faith-filled Science Fiction/Fantasy stories and pure words. www.fictionfusion.blogspot.com
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