Gimme That Old Time Religion!

I'm having a hard time writing characters with different religious beliefs than myself. I mean, I can do it, it just always accidentally ends up being an extreme. And then it doesn't work because I end up hating my character, and I don't want to write the story of someone I hate.

I can't grasp that....normalcy, that sort of middle ground between total evangelical nightmare and creepy depressed Nihilist. Maybe because I never had it. When I was LDS, I considered myself really LDS. You know, I dotted my i's and crossed all my t's and said all my prayers and jumped through every hoop. And then when I decided that I wasn't LDS, I became an atheist. And I was really and atheist.

Now I've simply stopped caring all that much, and I'm pretty decent at being what I call a Moral Agnostic ish. So I've never really experienced that "average" religious experience for myself. I think that's why I'm having a hard time understanding the motivations, getting into the head. I simply can not be moved to do anything out of religious zeal, no matter how minor, so having my characters do it always sounds insincere.

But I really love catholicism as part of plots, it's so dark and twisty and full of fun facts and artifacts. I like the idea of a character moved by religion but not, like, the Joan of Arc, Muhammad, Moses on the mountain kind of moved. Something more subtle and introspective, but I'm having a hard time grasping it. Thus my dilemma.

On an only somewhat related note:

Sometimes I want to be Catholic. Not really for any religious reason. It has something to do with rituals and beautiful places. I was looking through old pictures of the St. Louis Basilica and I found that I really wanted to be there. Even by looking at the pictures, I felt calmer and more at ease. Even though the scholar in me knows all the historical corruption of the church (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!) I still fall in love with the grandeur every time. The giant space filled with quiet and filtered light almost makes me want to pray. Nonsensical half formed thoughts about peace and awe.

I guess that's what they were built for, so.....way to go, guys!

But it's not just that I'm a sucker for symbolic stone architecture, the compassionate gaze of the Madonna, and stained glass windows (which, I totally am), it is the comfort of repetition. Of script. The idea of having a prayer, a chant, a mantra to repeat sort of like a verbal/mental barrier against evil or negativity is something I can get behind. Even if it only has as much power as the performer thinks it does, I still envy them that.

Now that I'm thinking about it, is that really any different than a superstition? good luck charms and such? Something physical and substantial that we can do and feel and see in order to feel better, even if just for a minute. Perhaps it's nothing more than the desired illusion of control.

So knowing that, is it weak to seek it anyway? Knowing fully that it is merely pretense? I dunno, something to think about.

Anyway, so yeah, I kinda want to be Catholic.

How did we end up here?

ps-One more reason to be catholic: a Nun's life sounds totally awesome. No hair and makeup, no room and board, no clothes shopping, no messy romance, just a life of chillin' with the sisters and community service. I could dig that.

bella notte, my dears!

There's no greeting card for that...

What's really on my mind tonight I wont talk about. Partially out of respect for the privacy of a friend and partially because I haven't decided how to react to it yet.

It's kind of driving me crazy though.

The funny thing about second hand grief and anger is that it's harder to process than the first person kind. No, it's not harder, it's harder to process. Different. At least for me, I get an overwhelming feeling, a need to do something. But because I'm not really the one affected, my emotions are chaotic and impotent. I feel sad and angry that someone I care about is sad and angry. But my emotions aren't the important emotions, which is the kind of distinction that makes life as an adult suck. It's a lot easier to process things as a self-obsessed teenager when everything has to be about what you're feeling because you're feeling everything SO HARD.

Oh, to be young again. *sigh*

I spent all day at work avoiding thinking about this, so now all I can do is think about it. I came home from work and started frantically working. Second coat on the step stool gleaming, all the dirty dishes clean, refrigerator emptied of rotten food, emails meticulously answered. It's my best avoidance technique. I'm super good at being dysfunctional. Unfortunately, I'm sick and headachey and tired, so I couldn't keep up that pace. So, I sat down to write my blog post and all I could think to write about is the thing I've been avoiding all day. First rule of dysfunctional avoidance techniques? They never last as long as you want them to. Eventually you have to nut up and deal with it. Another reason why being an adult sucks.

Today, aside from all this angsty drama crap, my boss asked me to assess all three of our employment candidates today because I had a chance to meet and speak with all of them. One of the candidates was my good friend Brenton. Brenton is really smart and really chill. He is almost done with a college degree and still has to beg for rides to get back and forth from a crappy job waiting tables at a crappy diner. Brenton would love a better job, he would thrive at a better job. He is qualified for a job in my bookstore, he would be good at it and love it. When my friends are happy, I am happy. Seems like all win, so I got him an interview and helped him prep for it.

Unfortunately, the other two candidates were pretty stellar too. So when my boss asked me, "What are your impressions?" I stopped to think and gather my thought, and I had one of those bizarre angel on one shoulder, demon on the other moments.

Angel: You need to make this decision as a professional based on what would be good for the bookstore.

Demon: But wouldn't working with Brenton be fun? Wouldn't it be great if he were happier. He may not be the best candidate, but he'd still be pretty good.

Angel: Good isn't the best, this is a small, independent business. You can't let your personal relationships cloud your judgment.

Demon: Aren't you being a lousy friend by not recommending him? What kind of person gets their friend to apply and then tells the boss to hire someone else anyway?

I hate you both, there's a reason I'm an atheist. Very few things are black or white, good or evil. Moral ambiguity, the third reason adulthood sucks.

So, let's try to bring this post away from the doom and gloom.

hmmm...I guess I can say:

Life sucks a lot sometimes, but not all the time.

Sometimes it's really really awesome.

and adults can have ice cream whenever they want without asking permission first.

Zing!

"It's going to be a good night, Tater"

WOWZA! That's alotta sexy! Mostly my sister, I love her a whole heaping lot.

Know what else is sexy? Raccoon hats. Also, awesome people. Specifically awesome people who share their awesomeness with others thereby raising the level of world awesome.

Some examples you say? Let's leave out all the generally awesome individuals who volunteer and sacrifice themselves in thankless jobs and like....donate organs n' stuff...

Let's talk about the ones that have positively made my life better in the last 15 hours or so.

1. Moxie java barista, she serves really shitty coffee out of a confining plywood fire hazard every weekday morning. That sucks. That really sucks. She probably can't even enjoy the fact that she gets free coffee cause it's so freaking gross. But still, she made my morning. I, who pretty much never buy coffee there unless I'm really tired, really desperate, and running really late. She saw, or rather heard in my demonic muppety mucus throat voice, that I was sick this morning and gave me a free muffin. That's awesome.

2. Whitney/Bob/Zoh!e, she is adorable and has peacock colored hair, what is more awesome than that? She played ska on her phone during an employment interview that we ran today. She also had on plaid socks. She, without questioning my motives, followed me on a mindless quest to antique stores and tried on all the funny stuff I told her to. She also unknowingly made fun of beatnik, 'scene' kids and their lousy book taste right in front of a dude reading Camus....priceless. She also skateboards in lingerie and makes fun of me when I eat beans out a skull (What? NO ONE MESSES WITH YOU IF YOU'RE EATING OUT OF A SKULL!). but mostly, what I find awesome about Whitney-bob-zohe is her never-ceasing thirst for knowledge. She is never afraid to ask why or require an explanation of things she doesn't understand or to seek out more random knowledge just for the hell of it. I really love that. She also hung out with my while I sanded and attacked an old step ladder with knives and razor blades. She even stayed around to watch me paint it "Caribbean Holiday".

Why, you may well ask, was I painting an old step ladder "Caribbean Holiday"? Because the "Gypsy Teal" was $3 more expensive. duh.

3. Drive thru guy at Westside Drive-In, (aside: Wow, second drive thru person of the day, something is wrong with my eating habits or right with customer service. Possibly both.) this dude was not only polite and really gorgeous in that not-so-obvious-that-I've-become-a-cocky-nerfurder kind of way. Also, he went out of his way to create a specialty drink for us (raspberry scotch and soda with ginger ale! Delicious!) and he gave us 4 pieces of garlic toast instead of the requisite 3 so we could split the order evenly. Got to love a hot man who digs symmetry and creative beverages.

4. John and Hank Green aka the vlogbrothers aka the founders of Nerdfighteria because they are possibly the coolest strangers I don't know, but feel like I know and want to be friends with. Also, I'm addicted to their vlogs. I just watched three straight hours of vlogbrother material, and if I didn't have to work tomorrow I can't say I would stop here. (check it out n00bs!: http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers AND http://nerdfighters.ning.com/) You, sirs, are awesome. You are selflessly devoted to sharing your awesome and that, too....is awesome. DFTBA!!! (don't get that, n00b? Go to their website!)

aaaaaaand, I'm pretty sure that covers today.

French the llama, that was awesome! (John Green, that was for you)

My Kingdom for Some Solid Food!

My fingers are mostly healed. Healed enough at any rate.

I now have a head cold to go with my blasted fingers. I am a pretty pitiful sight, I sound like a muppet, and I've been puttering around the house guzzling green tea and vegetable broth. I've been wearing my brown fuzzy slippers and my (oversized, obnoxiously yellow, mustard velvet) bathrobe with a notebook and pen in one of its pockets, my cell phone and chapstick in the other. Everything I need, right at my scabbed-over fingertips.

I've lost all track of word count or which days I've written what. Let's pretend for sake of argument that I've still managed 500 a day, "a day" being defined as any 24 hour period where I remained awake and cognizant for the majority of the time in question. Sound fair?

The time away from the keyboard has been nice though. I think I'm a different kind of writer when I write by hand. I am by nature, a visual person. When I write by hand, I do not necessarily write in order. My mind works in clusters, webs, and clouds. With a pen, I can write an idea like a clump of clay and then gradually decide what the clay is going to actually look like when I'm done. It's actually much more conducive to my poetry. I draw sentences rather than write them. I'm more inclined to write prose when I'm at a computer. Isn't that fascinating? I suppose that's the linear half of my brain kicking in.

Sometimes I spend so much time writing on the computer that I miss the physical act of writing. I didn't used to enjoy it. Probably because I take copious notes. So when I was in school I had too much of a good thing, lecture notes, in-class essays, and the like. That kind of overkill can lead to hatred. I'm really glad it didn't.

It's because writing is so intoxicating to me, I think. Not because it's meditative or because my handwriting is nice to look at once it's filled a page (it's not, it looks dreadful, I can barely read it most of the time) or because what I've written is particularly good (it's not, trust me).

It's intoxicating because a primitive part of myself is still amazed that scratching at a blank surface can mean so much. That by acting with purpose, I can give voice and meaning to what would otherwise be spilled ink and an innocent, smooth, blank page. Flawless, down right glowing with potential. Stunning. Antagonizing. Silent. Until I can claim it, mark it, mold it. Fill it with lines and swoops, cross things out, dig my pen into the thin flesh of the page when I really mean it, like a tattoo or a hieroglyph, and let my letters skitter across the surface when I don't.

Then I turn the page. And I do it again. It's like magic.

Again and again by the force of my brain and the sweep of my fingers I transform lifeless wood pulp into a story, into ideas. My ideas may not be life altering, regime crumbling, mind blowing masterpieces. But someone, somewhere, at some time was doing the exact same thing that I'm doing, and they changed the world. And I think that's beautiful.

That's all for me today.
g'night, my darlings!

Bloody, Bleeding Fingertips!

Sorry I didn't update yesterday. So, I now have a gash on the tip of my right index finger from an exacto knife and a gash on my right middle finger from a demon soup can.

It really hurts to type. So I'll be kicking it old school for a couple days and just write like a normal person, with like a pen and stuff.

Also, finished a book today: 'Some Girls Are' by Courtney Summers. It's like Mean Girls but well written with like...rape and death. Kind of a downer actually, but still a good read.

Ciao!