Locks Too Small

Tonight, I am tempted
Tonight, Its hard to fight
Tonight, I find it harder
To do what might be right

There are landmines on my narrow path
I can't find my way home
Its blow or get blown up in this one
And I'm not sure what I can stand

Can I handle losing an arm?
When two is all I have
The arms that were meant for holding
But are chastened for reaching

I'm counting doubts on broken fingers
I'm losting grip with my hands
I've regained the will to live again
But how can this fight be right?

I'm using words discreet
So you just stay in the dark
I want sometimes to scream the words
But fear the insecurity

There are landmines on my narrow path
I can't find my way home
Its blow or get blown up in this one
And I'm not sure what I can stand

Its cling to that which I know
Or thow away a whole life
To begin again, anew
Fresh feet under my knees

But that means i have to sever
The feet I've already grown
The feet i've grown up in
Though my shoes have never quite fit

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How Ironic...on the eve of conference, I'm tempted to screw it up, once again. The part of me that is fighting my urges is fighting because I dont want to have to feel guilty tomorrow, sitting throught the sessions, and feeling more guilty than I already will, hearing the apostles and prophets of our day calling us to repentance...when it's the hardest thing for me to grab onto, and accept into my life. I hate that I'm never quite creative enough to put MY sons to music...my music-writing sucks major.

Today was rather busy, and during the stint of frenzied action, I was able to keep my mind off of myself rather well. I had an interview at a store that'd be WAY fun to work at, and that went rather well. After that, I went into work an hour early to cover the remainder of the shift of a friend, home for the weekend to hang out with family. Today, being only my 2nd day, was disgustingly busy. More busy than a 2nd day should be for anyone. I was running around, frantic, trying to figure out what to do with myself. That DID, however, keep me occupied for the whole 5 hours that I was there, leaving me absolutely no time to think and no time to read my book, or do any sketches in the sketchbook that I had brought with me to kill deadtime.

Me being busy is good, because I'm not thinking about how much I hate the way that I am. Granted, the medication that I'm on has been helping me focus on that less and less as well (upping the dose was definately a good thing, in my opinion). So now, it's 1am, and my eyelids are sagging, as much as I'd rather not sleep, and not have to wake up on another day...If I could be in one perpetual day and night, I'd be satisfied...and there I go, rambling. The night brings a release of responsibility...it's "me time," whereas the day, the time in which my body wants to sleep the most, is when I have responsibilities. I think I would be fine with not waking up...ever.

But that's not reallistic, and tomorrow is conference. Time for me to get my spiritual skull bashed in, and feel like I'm more of an ingrade than I already do. Noche.