cutting the cru…

by epi

cutting the crusts off the sandwich i was making as a part of my cushy nannying job i got to pay the two bills i have (rent is nothing, i sleep in a room paid for by people whose only tie to me is love and shared memories), i got this twinge of… oh.

it’s just…

i was chatting (about nothing) as i made her lunch and she counted the nailpolishes (24) i’d carelessly stuffed in a bag. i would have painted my nails at home, but i couldn’t decide which of the (i refuse to count) dresses I would wear to my friend’s wedding (and should i pack an extra outfit in case i decide to stay an extra day? and should i wear the same outfit in the morning that i want to wear to the wedding? yes and no. i’ve too many clothes not to show them off). anyway, all of this was going on, and the moment those bread crusts fell into the trash, i felt my stomach fall too. what am i doing? what are WE doing? i have too much stuff, and throw away food, and go days without eating food as a means to lose weight. and there are people (i’ve met them, and clucked my tongue to shush their tiny skinny babies), who goes days without eating because there is no food. and i don’t know how i’ve gone 25 years, and poverty lived, and poverty seen, and excess lived, and excess seen without noticing this. But now that i have… it’s like i can’t UNsee it. & the worst part? i think if i could, i would. if i knew away to go without feeling the pain of other people, i would. because i’m weak. and i know that having seen it, knowing that it’s real, and i’m all the while playing the part in it, i can’t just ignore it, can i? I have to do something, however small. except, i can’t figure out how to do small. i can do not at all, or i can do with my whole life. and i’m getting this sinking feeling that God is calling me to give my whole life. and i mean, yes, that’s a noble calling, but it’s scary as hell too. and i don’t even know where to begin.

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