Four weddings, two sinus infections, one graduate class and zero Trans-Siberian concerts later…
It’s fairly ironic – not in an Alanis way – that I started this blog in part as a way to force me to write regularly, yet at the times I most need it such regularity fails me.
As a consequence of my never have adapted a Fall of Becausing schedule, when things get really busy (often with other pay writing, at least), the bloggy ideas just pile up in my head into a verbal crash at the front of my cranium. So I end up not writing them at all — because “oh, there’s no time to flesh that idea out,” and then I pick through the pieces of the accident later to see if anything’s identifiable.
Which is a way of saying I don’t have a specific idea right now (yet will once I step away from the PC), but I do know from old writing tricks that I’ll never get there unless I jot something — anything — down. And the “last post XX weeks ago” was staring at me accusingly like the priest’s “And when was your last confession?” question.
[Note: When a Catholic goes to confession, he — wait! They allow SHE’s to confess, too! — the sinner (we are ALL sinners) is supposed to state, when asked, that “it has been XX days/weeks/months since my last confession.”
This question paralyzed me as a child. It sounded like a test, but I never knew what the standard for confessional regularity was. Two weeks? A month? A school year? Maybe it depends on the number of unforgiven sins you’ve piled up? Is this why I delay oil changes today?
Meanwhile, I was undergoing what may be called “a crisis of faith.” More precisely, the salespeople who were shilling this organized religion thing to me did not, in my estimation, embody the values they preached.
So: Do I answer “how long since your last confession?” based on what the Priest and Guilt-Wielding Authority Figure wants to hear? Or do I answer honestly in the (unlikely) event there exists a God who gives a shit about such details, then suffer the Earthly consequences of disappointing the priest?
Reasoning that something was amiss — God would not choose such rotten ambassadors, would (s)he? — I went for the Earthly ease of telling the priest what he wanted to hear. Plus, “I cursed twice … I lied to my sister … and I took The Lord’s Name in vain.” And voila! My soul was cleared.
It still is…