It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

...And, of course, the title of this entry is taken directly from the first line of one of my favorite books, A Tale of Two Cities. Like that very wordy piece of literature, my life is drenched with tiny details; the descriptions drag on some times, but I've decided they add to the beauty of the entire piece, the composition of my life. I'm seriously waiting for a moment of rest, though...when is the author going to give me a break and lay-off the minuscule details? God reminds me of Charles Dickens, or maybe I should say Charles Dickens reminds me of God. He's up there with a pen in hand, like the creative author he is, leaving me wondering how, exactly, this particular chapter in my life is going to end...but I'm sure somewhere written in its lines is the phrase: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I am trusting that things will get better, but at the same time, I am not dumb, and every day I give thanks for the way things are. As quirky as that sounds, there are many things to be thankful for in spite of the few sticky situations. I can walk, talk, write, create, imagine, hope for better times, learn from the bad times, and even talk about God or any other religion openly without having to worry about persecution: freedom is beautiful and I am free. Still, that's a fact I quickly forget when I begin victimizing myself as Debt's property.

Yes, I am in debt up to the wazoo. I wouldn't even be surprised if I owe you money...yes, dear reader, you, wherever you are. Just kidding. It isn't that bad, but if you know me, you understand how I tend to throw in a little humor before I even start thinking of throwing in the towel. Here's the not so shiny side of the coin: I don't have a job, my last boss forced me to resign because she didn't want me missing work (this was during my pre-gallbladder removal days) and, if you've been keeping up with this blog, you'd understand that I still have many doctor appointments lined up (I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with my crazy digestive system that negatively overreacts at the presence of any kind of food). It's all really quite weird; physically, I definitely don't feel 22, and that's been the trend the past few months. Believe me, I've been grasping at straws trying to figure out how I can get a job, one that would allow me to work from home (those are not easy to come by!). My parents have their own issues to deal with, so they aren't helping out, my grandma has really been supportive...and Jose's also been a real champ, helping me out however and whenever he can. But those two wonderful people can only do so much. Even when Jose and I start wearing the rings that represent our lifelong partnership together, I still don't want him to be the only one "bringing home the bacon". He already has to worry about getting ready for law school, and finishing up this final year of college, the last thing I want is more stress for him...the thought of that stresses me out even more, and I'm sure that just contributes to my debilitating gastric condition.

Some days it's easy to see that life is good. I have enough to make it, including an abundance of love. Other days, the pain brought about by that unsettling feeling in my gut really knocks me out of my senses, and I'm not sure how I'm gonna be able to tolerate another day of pain. Then the thought of my college debt and medical bills enters my weary little head, and the overly-dramatic Sophie comes to life like a modern-day Frankenstein. This is just the raw truth, no need for sympathy on your part. It's been really tough lately, but somehow I always get over the humps, never alone, though...and that's what makes me just like everyone else sitting behind their laptop/computer screen reading these lines.