Chicken soup II

We left the rice in the cooler so that the cockroaches wouldn't find a way in, but a sad, bad thing happened.
There must have been a hole in the bag, for water from the cooler got into the rice.
Now for three days, we have been eating chicken and chicken soup, but we had to cook that rice. First I put it in the small pot, but I put too much (wanting to salvage the dry, you know: the wet won't cook right). So when we took it out, it wasn't done. We dished up only from the middle and after that, put the rice in the soup so it could cook the rest of the way.
Long story short, we have a mash that is about the fifth grossest thing I've tasted--the very worst being liver, which I had to choke down on an almost weekly basis at home. Not that I don't appreciate how healthy it is, but... I don't exaggerate when I say,
It is the worst thing... I ever had.
Well, putting into perspective how bad liver is, I managed to swallow a whole portion of mush this morning and evening (sometimes we skip lunch because it's so hard to remember amidst working). This is different for Ephraim and I because normally, if you don't want something, you leave it out and it disappears. But now, it is not so.

I was writing my story the other day, and I was finally able to put into words what I was trying to convey to myself. Like I've said to all the people who will read this, my feelings and my soul come out in my writing rather than my conscious thoughts, a lot of the time. So the things that my soul knows can be opened to my mind by my writing. Finally, I was able to write on paper what I've understood only at times and only emotionally--and what I put is really just a brainstorm trying to open it for myself.
No story is complete without good in it. But in truth, evil is only infected good. Once a person is infected, as are we all Earthan people, they can do no good without some evil in it. And yet we are capable of standing up to sin and doing some good, despite our powerful handicap.
And that is what makes a story what it is: the strength it takes to stand against sin itself.
The only way to stand against it is to take God's offered power.
Therefore when God is not within a story, it is rendered worthless, for there will be no worthy deed in it. (Let me insert a note here: when I say God is not within a story, I do not mean he is not mentioned.)
That is why (insert here the three main characters of my newest story), and all the rest are doomed to be worthless. They don't know Him.
The only way they can become themselves--that is, the worthy people God wants them to become--is if they allow him to scrape the evil off them.
We have the devil to fight and ourselves to conquer; our new selves to become by Jesus Christ's power. If we can do more than that, we are heroes, and only through and under Him (lest we be nothing).
If it sounds like rambling, you are right; so it is. It is my mind strangely rambling on patterns that are a little different than the way your mind rambles, because everyone's mind is different. But I really like doing that, and I like writing it down and then coming back several days later and trying to decode it and figure out where in the world I was coming from last week.

I'd give you a poem to reestablish your faith (whatever there may have been) in my blogging skills, but that would be no blog at all! For why are you here but to read about the adventures of the Goodenough Family! If you want poems, go to my blog. ;)

Now then, what have I not told you about?
Last night there were police cars and a fire engine driving up and down Cheyenne Ave and the other streets around with their lights on but making no sound.
I peeped up over the mattresses in the back of the car and stared out the window, then curled up with excited giggles to read a book. Come on, am I the only one that does that? Seriously, how can you not get a wave of adrenaline just thinking about taking time out to read your favorite thing! And when you've so well earned it! Agh, but I am so much more girly than I like to admit to myself. The giggling thing and the way I get embarrassed so easily and I even blush when I have to talk to the cashier... That stuff I should be grateful for. I need to feel connected to my own gender somehow.
Anyway, that was one of the times I ramble. I'll stop because that is not my self-approved writing style. Please excuse me for it.
Next morning we heard someone banging on a door and some shouting, and on getting up to look, saw three police cars in front of a house and a boy that couldn't have been eighteen that was arrested and some six police around, apparently looking around the place.
I don't know and don't really want to know what'all was happening over there, and it seems unpleasant to me.
That was while we were eating our gross mush and listening to an interesting Henty: The Tiger of Mysore.
Right now I am sitting in the very cornery-est corner in the super-nice Bartlesville library (the best part besides the books is the air conditioner), because this is the only place where there is an outlet and I think I've claimed it as my spot almost. Ephraim is reading (I kinda wish I was too, but I like writing just as much). There are so many books to choose from I don't know where to start, all lined up around us so nicely. My back against the wall aches because I haven't changed positions for so long, but I just want to finish here... You know those things in the background you're never aware of until you look for them. The carpet is a nice gray till you look closer and realize it's a really ugly mixture of colors. If only it was just, plain, gray.
Can you tell me what I should read? Comment and I'll follow your suggestions. I read anything but romance.