My stomach over the last week has been in constant complaint. I just can't seem to find anything to make it feel better. My dad used to talk about the same complaint and I am hoping that isn't one of those "why did I have to inherit that" kind of genetic traits.
My mind has been grumbling too. There has been so much going on. I want to scream to the havens for it to stop, but I don't think the sky is listening. I am glad I am not a drown your troubles in liquor type because I would be floating in an alcohol sea.
Life can serve up a big load of crap at times. It isn't fair, polite, or constructive. We all get hit with it and we all handle it in different ways. When it gets to be too much, I cry. It doesn't mean I can't handle it. It means I just need to cry. I think of it as my release valve. If I didn't turn on the tear spigot at times, it would turn into anger. You know the ugly kind that spews over onto everyone.
It feel so much better to acknowledge I want to shred some paper, kick some cans, and choke some people. No, I am not going on a tirade. I am doing my pencil therapy as I like to call it, writing out what doesn't need to stay inside. I don't need to give names or circumstances here. In my quiet time I lift it up in prayer. I heard a preacher once who said, "The Devil knows where your goat is tied and he will get your goat." I think I will keep him guessing.