The non-existant butterflies in my stomach are pretending to make their presence known.

I choose to ignore them and consider instead the reason for their being.

I, very irresponsibly, kept three seventeen year olds out until 12pm last night. Granted the purpose was good, a youth outreach for an church we planted, but the time was decidedly bad.

I realized my mistake this morning, when one called to say that she wouldn't be able to make it to have a meeting with me today, due to the trouble she got in for being late. Although to say realized is a bit more stubbornly prideful than it ought to be. I was made aware, how's that?

So it was time to reintroduce some of that 'generational building' I pretend to be so excited about when it's not called for, and drag my feet when it's occupation is in need. I dragged my feet [on the gas pedal] to her house today to ask forgiveness of her parents and when I arrived they weren't there. Of course the non-existant butterflies settled down at once as I was 'made aware' that they were unnecessary, for the present. But the feeling still remains.

Why does the idea of tying a generation span together so fasincate me in theory, but in practice so inhibit me?