I looked at the week that had just begun, and I swear that the events and responsibilities on my calendar were procreating. They are like rabbits, and now I am frantically trying to figure out how it will all get done – an adhd person’s nightmare. But what if these two small, almost trivial, situations were somehow linked?

Something grows inside my chest, I think, like an alien trying desperately to pop-out in an iconic (and parodied) manner. Then again, perhaps I am being melodramatic. This is such an overused scenario, where someone feels this sense of angst, pursues its meaning, discovers their purpose, ignites passion, and then everyone else becomes excited about it for a week-and-a-half. Then an alien pops out of someone else’s chest and the cycle begins anew.

Maybe that is what I am frustrated with? Cyclical cliche, evangelical theodicy, the process of rediscovery without reformation, passion without transformation, blips on radars that disappear faster than my short-term memory, or short-term mission trips that lead us to give up our iphones and televisions for at least 72 hours after we get back – until something good is on or another killer app is approved by that arcane and mysterious entity called the “App Store.”

It’s too early for a beer.
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