Odds and ends.
I have recently developed a few new definitions for hell.
1. Hell is . . . being trapped in the backseat of the car with both of your parents, listening on the radio to the world's longest informercial about erectile dysfunction.
2. Hell is . . . your dog has inexplicable diarrhea, and being crippled herself, needs help from her currently crippled owner to make it outside. Said owner does not move fast enough on crutches, slips and lands fully on recovering leg, screams in agony and falls into . . . you guessed it. Dogshit.
Given a choice between the two? I'm not sure which is worse.
My neighbors, whom I normally castigate for their heavy smoking (which drifts into my house when the windows are open) and their inconsiderate noisemaking at all hours of the night, heard me sobbing in pain and frustration and rescued me.
I am severely indebted to them. Not only did they pick me up and hose me off, they also moved the dog outside and hosed her off. Then they cleaned the carpet, put down a tarpulin that covers most of the living room, and put me and the dog back in the house.
They have just moved into fruit-basket territory.
On another note, I discovered a Law & Order episode airing late last night, and stayed up 'til something like 4am to watch it. I am still not over my embarrassing girlcrush on Elisabeth Rohm, dammit.
And bouncing to another topic . . . .
While I was in the hospital, my mom arranged for a priest to visit me, which is just her Catholic upbringing talking, not any indication that I was near death or anything. I think. I'm strictly a holiday Catholic, myself. Christmas and Easter, that's it.
Anyway, I made my confession, surprised at how much better I felt afterwards. Funny how it began, "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been . . . umm. Ah . . . er."
The priest said, quite calmly, "Just pick a number."
"I guess . . . fifteen years since my last confession."
I didn't expect absolution to feel . . . I dunno. Like so much of a relief? It really has been at least fifteen years since my last confession, and I don't remember ever feeling so overwhelmed by the sacrament.
I'm not a particularly religious person, but when the sun burst out from behind the clouds that had been hiding it all morning, it felt a lot like the closest thing I might ever get to A Sign From God.
The priest only assigned me one rosary as my penance, but he said something that I found interesting, and that I certainly didn't remember from any CCD classes in my youth. He said that saying the rosary isn't just about saying the prayers; it's about using the rote words as a way to free your mind to think about your life. Not much different than sitting in lotus position and chanting "Om", from what I understand. If you say the rosary with only the goal of getting the prayers over as quickly as possible, he said, you're not actually achieving what you should be, which is coming to understand why you committed the sins you did in the first place.
Religion is a weird thing for me. Despite all the horrors revealed in the headlines about the Catholic Church, to me it is still a comfort and a balm. Maybe that's just my well-developed sense of compartmentalization talking, but the fact remains that I have always thought of the Church in the same way I think of "home" -- as something that will always be there whenever I am ready to go to it.
Maybe this health scare was just what I needed to be ready.
Like I said yesterday, I'm not sure how long this newfound spirituality will last. Sometimes it's hard to count my blessings instead of just bitching about how miserable I might be at this particular second. But you know . . . I could have had a stroke. Or a pulmonary embolism. Or a heart attack. I could have died.
Instead, I'm lucky enough to be sitting on the couch with my leg propped up, whining about how I can't walk. I'm lucky enough to have family close by, with my mom staying with me to help out. I'm lucky enough to have neighbors who surprise me with their caring, and friends who always ask what they can do -- even if it's just to listen to me itemize the non-existent details of my (currently) tiny little world.
I hope that all the rest of you out there, whether we're on each other's friendslist or not, are doing well. And I hope that it doesn't take a life-threatening experience to make you realize that we all have things for which we should be thankful.
No matter how hard that is to remember, sometimes.
It's so easy to get caught up in the daily grind . . . to focus on the negative rather than the positive. And, granted, I'm not exactly the poster child for sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows . . . but I'm trying. So, please, bear with me.
I have the feeling it's going to be a bumpy ride.
1. Hell is . . . being trapped in the backseat of the car with both of your parents, listening on the radio to the world's longest informercial about erectile dysfunction.
2. Hell is . . . your dog has inexplicable diarrhea, and being crippled herself, needs help from her currently crippled owner to make it outside. Said owner does not move fast enough on crutches, slips and lands fully on recovering leg, screams in agony and falls into . . . you guessed it. Dogshit.
Given a choice between the two? I'm not sure which is worse.
My neighbors, whom I normally castigate for their heavy smoking (which drifts into my house when the windows are open) and their inconsiderate noisemaking at all hours of the night, heard me sobbing in pain and frustration and rescued me.
I am severely indebted to them. Not only did they pick me up and hose me off, they also moved the dog outside and hosed her off. Then they cleaned the carpet, put down a tarpulin that covers most of the living room, and put me and the dog back in the house.
They have just moved into fruit-basket territory.
On another note, I discovered a Law & Order episode airing late last night, and stayed up 'til something like 4am to watch it. I am still not over my embarrassing girlcrush on Elisabeth Rohm, dammit.
And bouncing to another topic . . . .
While I was in the hospital, my mom arranged for a priest to visit me, which is just her Catholic upbringing talking, not any indication that I was near death or anything. I think. I'm strictly a holiday Catholic, myself. Christmas and Easter, that's it.
Anyway, I made my confession, surprised at how much better I felt afterwards. Funny how it began, "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been . . . umm. Ah . . . er."
The priest said, quite calmly, "Just pick a number."
"I guess . . . fifteen years since my last confession."
I didn't expect absolution to feel . . . I dunno. Like so much of a relief? It really has been at least fifteen years since my last confession, and I don't remember ever feeling so overwhelmed by the sacrament.
I'm not a particularly religious person, but when the sun burst out from behind the clouds that had been hiding it all morning, it felt a lot like the closest thing I might ever get to A Sign From God.
The priest only assigned me one rosary as my penance, but he said something that I found interesting, and that I certainly didn't remember from any CCD classes in my youth. He said that saying the rosary isn't just about saying the prayers; it's about using the rote words as a way to free your mind to think about your life. Not much different than sitting in lotus position and chanting "Om", from what I understand. If you say the rosary with only the goal of getting the prayers over as quickly as possible, he said, you're not actually achieving what you should be, which is coming to understand why you committed the sins you did in the first place.
Religion is a weird thing for me. Despite all the horrors revealed in the headlines about the Catholic Church, to me it is still a comfort and a balm. Maybe that's just my well-developed sense of compartmentalization talking, but the fact remains that I have always thought of the Church in the same way I think of "home" -- as something that will always be there whenever I am ready to go to it.
Maybe this health scare was just what I needed to be ready.
Like I said yesterday, I'm not sure how long this newfound spirituality will last. Sometimes it's hard to count my blessings instead of just bitching about how miserable I might be at this particular second. But you know . . . I could have had a stroke. Or a pulmonary embolism. Or a heart attack. I could have died.
Instead, I'm lucky enough to be sitting on the couch with my leg propped up, whining about how I can't walk. I'm lucky enough to have family close by, with my mom staying with me to help out. I'm lucky enough to have neighbors who surprise me with their caring, and friends who always ask what they can do -- even if it's just to listen to me itemize the non-existent details of my (currently) tiny little world.
I hope that all the rest of you out there, whether we're on each other's friendslist or not, are doing well. And I hope that it doesn't take a life-threatening experience to make you realize that we all have things for which we should be thankful.
No matter how hard that is to remember, sometimes.
It's so easy to get caught up in the daily grind . . . to focus on the negative rather than the positive. And, granted, I'm not exactly the poster child for sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows . . . but I'm trying. So, please, bear with me.
I have the feeling it's going to be a bumpy ride.