Waking up past noon...
Good morning! (Good afternoon rather...)
What a nap! I feel like a drunk the morning after. I used to detest Sundays, for it always had the specter of Monday and the rest of the week hanging over it, but now I actually look forward to it. The 10 PM mass is magical (that's the best word this wordsmith can come up with here at this moment with his coffee-addled noggin'): with its congregation of lost souls assembling in an ancient-style Spanish Mission Church, in the glow of incandescent-lamps-disguised-as-flickering-candles, and singing praise, glory and honor to the Lord. The experience recharges me for the week ahead, and reminds me that there exist some things more important and permanent than the little slings and arrows which assault our petty daily lives.
And, no, I am no bible-thumper. And to prove that, here's a blasphemous joke for you:
QUESTION: What would Jesus do?
ANSWER: Altar boys?
I miss someone very much, and the feeling scares me. To me, when a friend drags you out in an attempt to lift you from your blues, it seems almost like a betrayal to fall for her. For what the friend offers is companionship and friendship; to ask for more is tantamount to being an ungracious guest in the home of a generous host. But the brain doesn't listen to the heart. Each time I see her, my heart skips a beat (OMG, she just appeared on ICQ... *smile*). And I long to see her each weekend. Each time I go out with her, I only fall for her more. How does one understand the heart?
And how does one know if this is a rebound? For it seems unconscionable to hurt the friend who came to your (emotional) rescue by (consciously or unconsciously) "using" her as a rebound. A close friend gave me this wonderful analogy. You see, he was sitting on a skateboard eating lunch behind Kenna Hall when I chanced upon him. He pointed that the long concrete "bench" wasn't perfectly level, but sort of slopes down to a lowest point in the center before rising again, like a really gentle valley. As a result, he could have fought the tug of gravity as he ate, seated on his skateboard, but he didn't, he let his feet go. And as he coasted up and down along the bench, he ate his lunch, allowing the natural process to determine his final resting position. And so should I with regards to my situation, he opined.
Chanced upon this video tribute last week. It really touched me. The pictures were gorgeous and possess an unspeakable profound quality. My only critique of it is the capitalist advertisement at the end, but hey, I guess the creators of the video must be allotted their due credit, eh? (And no, I'm not some CAL pinko/commie...)
What a nap! I feel like a drunk the morning after. I used to detest Sundays, for it always had the specter of Monday and the rest of the week hanging over it, but now I actually look forward to it. The 10 PM mass is magical (that's the best word this wordsmith can come up with here at this moment with his coffee-addled noggin'): with its congregation of lost souls assembling in an ancient-style Spanish Mission Church, in the glow of incandescent-lamps-disguised-as-flickering-candles, and singing praise, glory and honor to the Lord. The experience recharges me for the week ahead, and reminds me that there exist some things more important and permanent than the little slings and arrows which assault our petty daily lives.
And, no, I am no bible-thumper. And to prove that, here's a blasphemous joke for you:
QUESTION: What would Jesus do?
ANSWER: Altar boys?
I miss someone very much, and the feeling scares me. To me, when a friend drags you out in an attempt to lift you from your blues, it seems almost like a betrayal to fall for her. For what the friend offers is companionship and friendship; to ask for more is tantamount to being an ungracious guest in the home of a generous host. But the brain doesn't listen to the heart. Each time I see her, my heart skips a beat (OMG, she just appeared on ICQ... *smile*). And I long to see her each weekend. Each time I go out with her, I only fall for her more. How does one understand the heart?
And how does one know if this is a rebound? For it seems unconscionable to hurt the friend who came to your (emotional) rescue by (consciously or unconsciously) "using" her as a rebound. A close friend gave me this wonderful analogy. You see, he was sitting on a skateboard eating lunch behind Kenna Hall when I chanced upon him. He pointed that the long concrete "bench" wasn't perfectly level, but sort of slopes down to a lowest point in the center before rising again, like a really gentle valley. As a result, he could have fought the tug of gravity as he ate, seated on his skateboard, but he didn't, he let his feet go. And as he coasted up and down along the bench, he ate his lunch, allowing the natural process to determine his final resting position. And so should I with regards to my situation, he opined.
Chanced upon this video tribute last week. It really touched me. The pictures were gorgeous and possess an unspeakable profound quality. My only critique of it is the capitalist advertisement at the end, but hey, I guess the creators of the video must be allotted their due credit, eh? (And no, I'm not some CAL pinko/commie...)
posted by -ben | 1:38 PM
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