Funny, I have to make a comment: I was sitting there in Club Purple today, studying, when I looked up at the pictures I mentioned yesterday. Oddly enough, although nothing else anywhere in the vicinity had moved, there was one almost imperceptible change. The most prominent picture in front of me, of the prettier half of the happy couple (barf), had moved just one or two inches to the right, causing it to be obscured from my vision as I worked. Coincidence? I think not. God works in mysterious ways.

As my mood tonight went from jubilant to frustrated to happy to pensive to pissed off in an hour, I realized I needed to take a step back and evaluate the entire matter objectively. It’s been a while since I’ve seen this kind of emotional rollercoaster-riding. Guess what? The symptoms looked vaguely familiar… I’m stressed out.

Tonight, there was a lecture at Borders, sponsored by the Francis Schaeffer Institute, called “From Santana to Alanis Morrisette: The Yearning for Spirituality in Pop Music.” Well, needless to say, I was looking forward to attending it. I even got Max, Melissa, Audrey and Larisa to all go. Of course, half the seminary was there too.

I was extremely disappointed in the lecture. We got to listen to Creed (of course), and unfortunately Tori Amos, but the other songs were by relatively obscure artists. The discussion focused around the fact that many pop artists are struggling with spirituality, but in a vague sort of context. As music and faith are my two touchpoints, I am intimately familiar with both of them, and I understand how they intermix. I could have given this lecture, and actually kept people interested. I was very frustrated by the lack of depth in this lecture.

Max, ever wise (although a great source of irritation for me today) told me at the break that my love of music takes me deeper into it than most people get… and this lecture is merely trying to stir an interest in music and pop culture for people who may not notice it as much. Fine. It still irritated me.

Audrey was there, which for some reason threw me. I walked back from the break to see her sitting next to Max. That was completely bizarre.

Then again, there’s nothing really truly bizarre in my life anymore. After the whole “metatron” incident earlier in the week, the lecturer started the entire lecture off by talking about Carlos Santana and his belief in spirituality and … you guessed it …. metatron. I burst out laughing in the middle of the lecture. I couldn’t help it. I was laying on the floor, next to where Max was sitting, and I reached my foot over and tapped him. “I can’t believe it,” I mouthed. “I can,” he said. I rolled my eyes.

And Max is in a mood. That’s fine; apparently I am too. But when he gets in a mood he throws up every available wall, turns off his cell phone, doesn’t return calls, and acts very callous towards everyone - even when it’s just a few select people that are draining him. He’s got the type of personality that makes you want to tell him your deepest, darkest secrets, because you know he won’t judge you, and he’ll do his best to love you where you’re at. Unfortunately, there’s so little of that in this fallen world, that people everywhere crave that kind of love and attention. So Max’s phone ends up ringing literally 24/7. [The boy uses well over 1,000 minutes a month on his cell phone.] He commented to me on Wednesday night that he was really sick and tired of everyone thinking he was their personal “counselor.” I think when we passed in the hallway at the loft Wednesday night was the last time I’ve really had any conversation with him at all - and that was about 2 minutes.

He’s really good about throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Then again, I’m really not very good at letting my friends have space. It wigs me out when there is a disruption in my comfortable patterns with them. “Did I do something?”   “Is he mad at me?”   “Can I help?”

Unfortunately, right now I’m about as strung out as they come. I’ve spent a total of 46 hours studying hard-ass finance stuff, and my brain is on circuit overload. I could use a hug… isn’t that pathetic? I need a simple, stupid hug. Shit. On that note…

To bed,

michelle