Walking to the bright lights in sorrow.

So, we finally found ourselves a pastor. It's a little surreal, as he's almost too good to be true. In fact, a lot of our candidates seemed perfect, and yet our Pastoral Search Committee continued to reject them on one basis or another. The one we've finally chosen is almost... too perfect. Not almost. He is too perfect. Beyond perfect for us.

It's quite exciting :)

However, I've been thinking of what he said to me a few weeks ago. He's been visiting members of the church to get to know us more personally. And so as we were chatting over my dinner table, he gave me some incredible insight on myself.

He said: "Huh, so you've had some pretty ambiguous relationships in your life."

Despite the psych background (which is baloney anyway), I've never dug any further in my own self-reflections and personal analysis' than assuming that my most significant life experience derived directly from my late relationship with Jasmine; and although that is important, it was not the only relationship my pastor was referring to.

But starting with my dad being absent the majority of my life, my mom passing away, and my sister moving out of town, I began to realize that I had no one close. How does this affect my relationship with others? I wondered. How will this affect me as a husband? Though I do have close friends, I still like to keep most of my relationships distant. Even more still, I am absolutely the clingy type. But I never really ask others to hang out because clingy types really irritate me, and I cringe at the thought of appearing as one. Cringe like when I hear some kid over-bend sharp on a poorly rehearsed Zeppelin solo hahaha!

So, today was pretty depressing. Not only was I contemplating all this, but another great man just put in his two weeks, and yet another is considering it for the Fall. This job honestly does not pay very well, and unlike a poser as myself, most people working at L&M are professional musicians, living on the borderline of poverty.

I will miss them deeply. Despite the fact that they're over twice my age, I'll miss our discussions of music, heated debates of spirituality and morality, and the oggling of women (which I pretended not to partake in).

Taking their place is a whole bunch of whackos who I can't relate with. (I'm not being a snob or cliquish; they're seriously... weird. But I am trying.)

And so, I came to the dreaded revelation that I have absolutely nothing to look forward to when I get home. No family, no salvation, no peace.

When I did finally get home, I was so defeated, I didn't know what to do. I agreed with my cat as she collapsed on my bed, knowing that sleep will cease my existence from myself, if only temporarily.

Buckley says it best: I'm not afraid to go, but it goes so slow.