Even in Australia

This morning I got in the car for class and realized I was going to have to come back home for less than two hours in the afternoon and then go back to school, a pet peeve of mine. Then, when I was going to the thing at tw0 which made this happen, I couldn't find a spot and had to park in the scrub lot. Then I was late and the door made a loud sound on my way in. The event was a discussion about fellowships and residencies, ways to get time to write. When I asked about finding a job after such things are over, the only response was "I wish I hadn't obssessed about it." I had a voicemail that I hoped would be from a prospective employer, but it was from the dermatologist's office reminding me of an 8:15 appointment tomorrow. I came home and checked the mail to find a letter saying our senior pastor is retiring. Certainly it is partly because of the way people acted toward him when he welcomed a gay couple into our church. I threw some things and grumped out until it was time for dinner, which was at church. I was so excited about the chicken casserole. Guess what they were out of. So I ate rice, rolls, a cold hard potato, and gummy lemon meringue pie. Partly my fault for being late, but they usually have plenty extra. Not this time because the food lady's father died on Monday. We have classes after dinner, and someone I'm supposed to love but don't like was in mine. He asked me how I was doing three times, so I finally said I wished I hadn't checked the mail today. As if that was all.

But it's none of that, really. It's having to face the fact that I'm not consulted about every change that affects me. And that staying here in Wilmington after graduation will not freeze time and keep all the women strong and the men good-looking and the children cute and above average. That no matter what I do or where I live, good things wane and bad things wax even though it's mostly the other way around. I just hate that I can't stop time while things are awesome, before someone gets sick or injured or falls out of love or moves away. I hate that none of this is my call.

And I'm crestfallen at the thought of leaving, but scared to death that I'll stay and things'll immediately go sour like they sometimes do. Mostly sad in advance, as if my sadness now can lessen the impact later. Sad because people who meant a lot to me a few years ago, and still do, have gotten married, had children, turned gay, and I only found out third-or-fourth-hand because I guess they didn't know I still cared about them so much. Because while I love writing letters and think about people all the time, I'm officially very bad at keeping in touch. I don't blame only myself--it's a two-way street--but I do see a pattern here. And I don't want these current friends to drift away, at least not now or soon. I want to see these kids grow up. I want to see these grown-ups flourish and stretch toward God. I want to keep eating their cooking and celebrating their lives. So I scramble for purchase by wanting to stay. Jobs seem to say otherwise. Today I thought for the first time, "It's eating at me." And it absolutely is. I can hardly think about anything but finding a way to stick, and if I can't, finding a way to not be bitter and depressed. I lose sleep. I cry. I talk about it almost incessantly. I am so blessed to have a community I'm this upset about even the thought of leaving. That's the funny part; I should actually be grateful for this mess because I would definitely not rather be disenchanted with Wilmington and itching to head out. It is a wonderful and powerful thing to be this rooted. Not that that makes it easier. Much is at stake. But that's what makes a story meaningful. And meaningful is the main thing I want my story to be.