I've come again to the white page to fill it up with words. At this time, there isn't much I have words for, mostly just feelings floating around and making mess inside. It's all very hard to describe. I recently encountered a new idea of thinking about your thoughts as passengers on a bus. Sometimes, we let those thoughts "drive our bus," even when we know it isn't the best idea. Currently, the feeling driving my bus is something like hope, but worse. It's not the positive, genuine hope with the silver lining. Instead, I feel like I'm chasing hope, grasping at air, screaming in silence, drowning in the deep feels. One of the ways to switch up the driver, is to acknowledge first, who is in charge? The driver or dispatch? Short answer is... dispatch. The driver merely follows the route and direction given to him or her. It's the big dogs who are really in charge. False, fleeting, run-away hope seems like it is wearing the pants, but really, t...
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