The.

"All who are thirsty

And all who are weak

Come to the fountain

Dip your heart in the streams of life

The pain and the sorrow

will be washed away

And the waves of his mercy

Reach out from deep to deep..."

Have you ever slammed on your breaks in the middle of an interstate?

No, of course you haven't. Neither have I. The closest I've come was going 45 on 350 when I thought I saw a deer, and found out that my astigmatism was worse than I thought.

You can't really slam on the breaks in the middle of an interstate highway because you're often going anywhere from 65 to 80 miles an hour. Stopping that abruptly would send you straight through the windshield and into the cold pavement. Its better that a stop comes in gradually, between exit ramps, and allow your body's momentum to slow with the car.

I draw in the silence card too much, but i think its just my natural inclination to revert toward it, especially when I'm burnt out. but I'm ok with that. I'm ok with simply existing for a little while, so the synapses and broken dysfunctionalities can mend themselves.

The journey there is something entirely different, but I'll take it nonetheless. My "the's" have been undertaken in so many avenues I've forgotten. I allowed coping mechanisms to manifest themselves in anything: food, friends, coffee, cats, business, bitterness, service, will power, dogs, chocolate, any form of self-medication--and left wondering why they don't satisfy. Granted, there's always a piece of these 80 mile an hour semesters that can only be healed by some kind of rest and break from the burnout, but hidden in I am without excuse. There is only one portion I can return to and ask for. The portion.

"For man cannot live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God."

Pride isn't the culprit, although sometimes it is. More often than not, I'm afraid to be a bother. There are starving children out there, God has more important things to do, and I'm just going to return with the same problem in a week, anyway.

In any event, He reminds me that He's the one who crafted time. It's not alright to stall, but its alright to use it.

I always feel slightly disoriented when I come home now, but after a few days the acceleration pedal stops sinking and I can start to squeeze the brakes. Throughout the weeks as I wade through pictures and leftover tests, in the minutes between He gradually draws my "the's" out of my hands and puts them away. My mind tries to tear ahead, but if I don't go at the pace He sets there's no way I can make the entrance ramp to next semester in the right amount of energy.

Besides, I got a D in physics anyway.