A Life Like LEGO

Right now I'm getting that feeling of unassembled mess being laid out before me.

It's sort of like looking at a pile of LEGO blocks. Not a brand new box, because when you open that, you know that all the pieces are there, and they'll be easy to find. In less than an hour you'll have assembled something amazing.

It's that feeling you get when you look at a massive tub of LEGO blocks. Maybe you just found an old set of instructions, so you're going to try and build the toy pictured. But this tub is filled with thousands of blocks and you only need maybe two hundred. You're not even sure if all the pieces are there ... and even if they are it's going to take forever to sift through the ones you don't need.

It's that feeling of dread. You know that something amazing can be built out of the circumstance, your relationships, and the point you're at in life. You've got faith that something can be built, but you're dreading the action of sifting through those pieces of your existence.

I've got my education to think about. My relationships with people. My plans for the future. None of it is fitting right now, and I fear I might be cracking the blocks trying to force them together here and there. Yesterday I felt as if some pieces finally clicked, or fell into place, but today I wonder if that was just my idealism, or a hopeful imagining.

The longer this post goes on, the less sense it'll make. So I'll just end that here.