the button i have to push when i want to write a new entry says 'create'. i hit the create button and i am here, in an empty space. i am hoping to create...what? a memory of a thought, a shred of understanding, a storyline of a life-in-progress. all of those things. i am hoping to create a trail of words that leads somewhere significant. i don't want my life to be a waste of days, but lately the days are flying.

my heart is in my throat today. it is full of questions - the big kind that i have to answer myself. more like, the big kind i take to God and hold out with trembling hands and wonder what He'll do with them, or with me. i am many good things and many bad things; i'm fairly convinced that i'll forever be that way - a mixture of things i love and hate. my dreams echo my division - i love and hate them. i dream of a pretty house with a hot tub on the patio, full of steaming water on cool nights. i want to fly to islands with turquoise water. i want to go to the grocery store and buy beautiful artistic foods and serve them on earthenware. i want to be able to buy clothes that make me feel beautiful and shoes that don't hurt my feet. i don't need to be rich, but i would love to have enough money to not worry every time i remembered my loans, my debt. and then i hate that dream, because i feel like it makes me somehow less than those women who don't want a pretty diamond, don't care about their wedding, don't want or need financial security. i hate that dream because, if lived out fully, it could eliminate my dependence on God. i wouldn't wonder where my provision was coming from. truth be told, i don't WANT to wonder. i wish i could be content with all that uncertainty, and maybe i will be when i'm a little more mature. i feel like a little kid today, telling you this about me, telling you how i want a life of adventure but i hate the idea of scraping by for the rest of my life. i want to tell you that those things have no pull on me, but i'd be lying to you. i hate it so much that i am tempted to lie anyway.

so what will God do with a girl like me, surrounded by soon-to-be-doctors that are dying to build a life for themselves? a girl guiltily dreaming of doing the same? perhaps Gods will and my guilty dreams are not mutually exclusive; perhaps they are. God knows i can't create a story that he hasn't first written for me. maybe this is one more part of myself that needs to die, a part that has been caught up in tv and magazines and lies. rereading my words, i'm pretty sure that's the case. i'm never happy when i'm measuring my life by those standards, but there's such a draw there for me. the tractor pull of the 'perfect life'. i'm trying to get out of it.

this is yet another reason why i need to get out of med school. NOW.