I had one of those days that you reflect on and think yourself to be a loser or just not very capable at life.
It reached it’s zenith this afternoon in a failed attempt to make butterscotch for the church fair (or fayre as current spelling seems to dictate) with my new electronic thermometer which of course had run out of battery. Then the failed cakes for said fayre and the icing on the cake, a call from Talk Talk when I had briefly hoped it to be someone ringing to say I had a job interview for a job I would really have liked to do and had spent Sunday night filling in a job application for.
Then there are the many personal failures that would be unwise to put up on public display. Added together and more they seem to be pointing out that I’m a failure.
Anyway, it does seem a bit unhealthy an indicative of our modern age that I’m saying this stuff on an internet page instead of talking/praying it over with friends or family,(or church) but this is all I have at the moment.
I feel so discouraged, isolated and lonely at the moment and for a number of years. There you go, I’ve said it.
I’ve never really put down roots in this new soil up here in Lisburn, and like a seedling that doesn’t like being transplanted from where it was sown I have too have struggled with being transplanted from the south. I miss the soil of the south, the culture and even the light. Walking along the canal at 1.00pm it just felt so dark and gloomy, a Mordor sort of dark and gloomy. I never remember the darkness being so dark in Dublin and Dun Laoghaire.
The darkness has literally been eating away at my soul, I hate it and want the light. I want a place to put down permanent roots, somewhere with water and light. Few plants grow well in the shade, I don’t grow well in the shade either. And it must have healthy soil. Lord, is that too much to ask? I have the fear that you’re always going to ask me to do things beyond my capabilities and strength. This place you’ve planted me has been beyond my capabilities. I’ve tried my best to flourish and grow, but I’m sickly and want to go home. I’m sick of the exile and sick of reflecting that exile on to other people.