Am I merely a heathen, now? Is that what this heartburn is indicating?
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I don't want to write this blog. I really don't. (Of course, I'm going to, but still...you should know that I don't really want to). I don't want to write it because it's going to force me to seriously consider the points I'm about to make, or attempt to. Points that are more than likely going to be offensive, both about myself and the culture I live in...and probably to one or two of you, at the least. I like God, let me just say that, upfront. I even like Jesus. I don't know when the last time was that I...
"And I said, Well, excuse me, I didn't know you had a copyright on the bow tie."
Now, you may not believe this, but I really do try very hard to be nice, to be kind, to be a friend, to be polite, etc. It's just that I have a great deal of trouble sometimes in doing anything even remotely nice, or kind, or friendly, or polite, etc. And sometimes, it's not even really my fault. It isn't. It's just that I'm, every now and again, a tiny beat behind the music. I'm not even sure I hear any music, so God bless my poor little drummer. Of course, I don't hear very well, either, and I know that doesn't...
I feel pretty sure God said He was going to stop doing that to people.
I love bad weather. I hate flying. Putting the two together does not help, because the spectrum on which they reside is of equal value. Both haunt my dreams, and continuously. I'm hoping...against hope I would imagine since we're entering that stage of the season where thunderstorms lurk around the farthest oak trees, down the highway, and then appear suddenly, from the limb tops...still, I'm holding out that the weather will be nice toward the end of June when I must board a plane and fly to Tacoma, Washington. For funsies, you say? No. Not for funsies. For competition. The community theatre I work with...
Rasputin and the Fateful Finger Day
I: Confession I don't have many great qualities, I'd imagine (for instance, I find it increasingly difficult to even get a date, so I'm tempted to say that I must be lacking some crucial quality - unfortunately, it's a temptation I never give into. I know better). What I do have, and consider a good thing to have, is a large, uncontrollably malleable heart. Even if it's quite a fault of mine to have it, a liability. It's still not the worst thing to have. Then, again, I'm also ignorant about a great many things, and most often, after the initial shock of owning so much pathos, I tend to...
…tomatoes who show no pity.
I'm trying to go green, but the cats won't stay out of my small, slightly ergonomically designed box garden. I've considered several ways to get rid of them: BB guns (but that's hardly a green attitude); a tin pie pan tied to a 2x4 (but that would ruin the aesthetic); placing lime, lemon, and orange rinds around the exterior (my fading grandmother with all her southern gentility and, now, senility, swears this is a feline deterrent - I'm highly doubtful and so have yet to choose this option); or simply leaving Max in the yard (he's a 100+ pound white German...
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