I feel like I'm talking to myself again. That's probably because I am. Aimless thoughts and rambling, but I remind myself that it is therapy. I write for myself, although anyone is free to listen in. It's not like a personal diary or anything. I'm thinking I could have found a more private way to express myself if secret thoughts were what I was aiming for. So it is like a conversation with myself because it's directed to no one in particular. The frustrating part is the questions. Why do I ask questions when I'm not really expecting an answer? Why did I just ask that question? I can carry on this conversation for pages or until my spell check checks out and I'm perfectly happy. Throw one question in there though and I'm a bit nervous. Nervous about no answers and nervous that sometime, somewhere an answer might actually show up. That changes everything. It's somewhat like my prayer life I guess. I talk and talk and ramble and talk to nothing in particular, at least nothing I can see. I'm not sure if I think it might make a difference. Does God need my input to keep the world spinning on its axis? (another question).
I talk so much and hear so little that after awhile that's all I expect from this relationship. It's alright by me most times. It helps me. I believe that it's more for my benefit than His anyway. It's the questions that worry me. Sometimes I think I don't expect an answer to the questions anymore than I expect a response to mindless drivel. Maybe I talk so much, He'll miss the question hidden in the conversation. What if He doesn't answer? What if He does? As I write this I wonder, perhaps, that when I get answers, the reason it can be so distressing is that I then realize that someone is listening. The conversation might matter. If that is so, then there is a whole new level of responsiblity that goes with my end of the conversation. Maybe it's not only me that benefits from this.