Sitting here thinking endlessly about my exorcism paper (again) with my little mind tramping around in circles, trying to figure out whether I should perhaps attempt to summon a little demon and ask it some questions, I listlessly started flipping through a hymnbook for inspiration…well, actually for something to sing that might help me focus. It was then that I realized I had, in fact, absconded with the Catholic Book of Worship II that I had been using when I was still singing in the choir.
Of course, I meant to photocopy the songs I wanted and arrange them in liturgically-appropriate packages, at which point I’d return the little blue book. I even have lists of all the song numbers I need as well as where they should go. There are a lot of songs on the list (several legal sheets long) but it’s still manageable. I should probably also return the CBW III (the big green book), the black folder of songs from the pews, and possibly also that box stuffed full of sheet music. Hmmm…perhaps my room would be a bit less cluttered?
I admit, actually knowing the music we’re singing is one of the things I miss most about Roman Catholic church; now I’m more like an out-of-tune piano than ever before – not that I was ever particularly in key.
Other Classics…oh, I was obsessively watching the news (as usual) the other day when I thought I saw a clip of this guy who, like, attacked me a few years ago. You know, the one I’ve been ranting about? Well, maybe not ranting…more like subtly hinting about I guess. Actually, have I been doing even that? Well, I’ve written about pstd and a seven-year marker and they’re all related in a fairly straightforward manner. So, after a moment of total freezing-in-place while hearing a creepy familiar-sounding voice, I felt somehow horribly violated again. What a moment to wish I had TiVo though: then I could have replayed it and maybe been more certain. It’s really the combination of the face and the voice and the annoying smugness of what he said. If it was him, which I'm sure it was, he looked older. But still basically the same, glasses and all. I had been hoping that, through some miracle, I would be able to come face to face with him and not recognize him, not feel that same fear and paralysis, not…remember. Not remember what he looked like, what he sounded like, what he did. Not feel that I was helpless and that I couldn’t run away. I’d also been hoping he’d not be coming back after he, like, proactively fled the country to one with no extradition.
Classic me, that’s what it is.
Other Classics: ‘Wafergate.’ I mean, wasn’t there some real news last week like, oh I don’t know, an important summit or persecution in China or stolen money or something? Wafergate???? I should be talking about Wafergate (and perhaps other silly news as well) on the radio at about 7:30 because my awesome friend is going to let me blab on his show. Which means I have to get up at 5:30 to get there. Which means I should probably be planning bedtime right now instead of writing this. Or maybe finishing that waaaaaay overdue paper on exorcism…
Tune in later for more of my inspired speech about life, God, the universe and everything. Yes I know it’s irrelevant. But really, has that stopped you before?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment