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A Heretics prayer at Christmas
I pray.
I pray because it feels good and it feels right.
It feels right because I’m saying ‘thank you’ without a human audience, and that feels authentic.
It feels right because I’m taking a moment to reflect and ask for guidance – and not things.
It feels good because I pray for positive energy – I ask for blessings for others.
But, I am not a Christian.
I tried to be. I’ve asked ‘the’ question in the past – with an open mind and willing soul: “Jesus, please come into my heart.”
I tried because it felt like the right thing to do, but mostly because I didn’t want to go to hell.
Then I felt hypocritical asking out of fear.
I wanted so badly to believe – but not at any cost – not because I was afraid not to.
I even convinced myself to some degree that God might actually appreciate an honest heart that at least tried. Although, probably I am going to hell. If there is one.
I had to be honest with myself though. I don’t believe. I do not believe the stories in the bible happened.
And it’s not just Christianity, every religion to me, seems as if a game of ‘telephone’ (Or ‘Chinese Whispers’) has been played with it.
If there is any one and only ‘right’ religion, man has dipped his hands into it over time. As a result, I just don’t feel like what was original, authentic or intended is among the current selections.
I don’t trust man.
But I do have Faith.
I believe in a higher power. Something bigger than me. Something I’ll never understand and am not completely meant to … because wouldn’t that be counterproductive to the concept of ‘Faith’?
I do believe in the power of prayer.
I believe there is a source of good – and of love.
And for all intents and purposes, I call that God.
In two weeks it will be Christmas Day.
Although I’m not Christian, I can appreciate a day selected to celebrate the birth of a child that represented love and forgiveness. I can get behind that.
In fact, I usually adore this time of year. The extra love and kindness that the Season tends to bring from others.
The lights and the music – the joy and the hope that warms Winter.
I’m not feeling any of that this year.
I have knots in my stomach where excitement should be.
I’m looking away from lights and avoiding the holiday music.
I feel like a deadline is beating down on me that I can’t possibly meet.
I love giving.
I especially love being able to grant a wish – be able to witness a smile that reaches the eyes of someone I love.
It’s been a tough year financially.
I know I’m not the only one – but I can’t write about what other people are feeling.
I only know how I am feeling.
I know that presents aren’t ‘the reason for the season’, but I don’t want to let my son down.
I’ve always found a way.
Always.
Somehow managed to grant a material wish for the boy I would lay down and die for.
I am falling short this year.
And it hurts.
And it makes me wish Christmas wouldn’t come.
I need to pray on that.
Pray on why the need to give is so strong, that I feel ‘less than’ if I can’t do it.
Because that’s a lot different from needing to give and not wanting to do it.
I need to pray on why it upsets me so much to think I’m letting someone down when I can’t provide things they want.
Because that’s a lot different from not providing things they need.
I don’t ever want my motives to be driven by fear.
I will pray they are driven by love.
I’m quite certain they are.
It is Christmas after all, the one time of year when it’s traditional to show love by offering gifts. To indulge in a few material tokens of our affection.
American Horror Story, Christmas party and a hooker
I’m not musing from the laundromat today – AND my weekend job hasn’t been done yet. I’ll do both later today.
I had a Christmas party to attend yesterday and very little motivation to do anything other than that once I saw that ‘American Horror Story: Asylum’ was finally on Netflix!
The only kind of marathons I’ve ever, or will ever be a part of – are series on Netflix.
This is true. This is how I watched Breaking Bad, Orange is the New Black, Derek and the first season of American Horror Story: Murder House.
I was just 3 episodes shy of finishing the whole season when it was time to get ready for the party.
Speaking of Christmas parties – Sister Mary Eunice’s tree decorations really had me in the holiday mood …
Back to my horror story …
I’ve mentioned before that I’m not really that ‘girly’. I don’t like to call attention to myself – but on occasion, I do enjoy the ritual of dressing up for a ‘dressy’ event.
I had the perfect dress. It didn’t look like much on the hanger, but when I wiggled into it in the dressing room – it actually rendered me wide-eyed.
It fit as if it were tailored for me, simple little black dress with a satin bust area. It was also really comfortable.
I took a shower – did my hair – grimaced as I put more make up on than I am used to and put on ‘the dress.’
I stood in front of the mirror and wondered when my dress had shrunk. Oh, it still fit me, but the length … there was a LOT of leg that I don’t recall being there in the dressing room months ago.
I threw some shoes on and asked my date, (my son Nicholas) for his opinion.
“Do I look like a hooker??”
“A little bit.”
(Ug.)
“What if I wear my hair back?”
There was no hairstyle that was going to magically turn a really short dress into anything I was going to NOT feel awkward wearing. It was already hard enough having lashes that felt like glamorous spiders and lips the color of a candy apple.
(Or … should I say “Ravishing Red” Oh Sister Mary Eunice …)
This was the make up. And the funny thing is – I can look at this picture and it doesn’t look like too much. Not when I compare it to any photos I’ve seen in any given magazine.
But it FELT like too much! I can assure you. Which, makes me wonder about celebrities and models … how much make up do they flipping have on?!?!
Nothing seemed to feel right. I ended up wearing a skirt UNDER my dress, adding length,and a cardigan over it all.
From hooker to cat lady in two simple steps.
The party was nice – the food was great – then home to Netflix. A close friend on Facebook had the following status today: “The best part about getting all dressed up for a holiday party? Putting your sweats on afterwards.”
Yup.
I managed to get Nic hooked into American Horror Story before we left, so we both sat in the living room glued to the screen.
Until I fell asleep. Probably the weight of the mascara had just been too much for my lids …
He graciously filled me in on everything I missed from ‘Continuum’ when I woke up from my unplanned nap. (Spoiler alerts Nic! Spoiler alerts!)
Luckily, I was too tired to retain all of the information he shared. I went to bed then watched it this morning … (I also watched the last episode without him. Not sure if I’m going to lie about that and watch it again with feigned surprise, or wake him up and tell him everything that happened.)
I hate when a show is over. Much like when I finish a book. I’m not done with you! I’m invested now! I get so attached to my fictional characters.
Must say – it was a great ending though. None of that Sopranos ‘fade to black’ crap. Yes, I have an imagination, no – I don’t want to use it after investing so much time in a story YOU created.
(I never was a Sopranos watcher by the way – but I think I’m the only one, so that was the best example I could think of for you.)
So, before I spend another day in my pajamas, I shall wrap this up with some of my favorite quotes and moments from American Horror Story: Asylum – and get my arse into gear for the rest of the day.
On a serious note, one of the more disturbing scenes … Dr. Arden and the ‘Ruby Earring’ test. I was conflicted about whether I felt any compassion for him, given his past and his continuance of inflicting pain. Pure evil – but, evil yearning for purity and innocence. Why am I always looking for some ‘good’ in monsters?
Having said that – the fact that once he sees there is no purity left in Sister Mary Eunice and decides he’s still ‘with her’ … (after such an amazing speech too!) was a twist I didn’t see coming. He lost any shred of sympathy from me – and I was disgusted when he took it upon himself to burn with her.
But, lest we forget …
Imaginary pie
My boss brought quiche in today. (Besides being a loan officer, he’s a restaurateur – which really works to my benefit considering I like to eat.)
My piece didn’t stand a chance – I heated it up and poured my small ramekin of hot sauce on the side of my paper plate and devoured.
A while later, after he’d just eaten his, I went into his office and sat at his desk to discuss a file with him.
Now, I KNEW he had eaten quiche. But, in the split second that I caught a glimpse of his empty paper plate, stained orange from the sauce – topped with his crumpled napkin, my mind saw something completely different.
____________________________
Me: Want to hear how my mind works?
Him: (Audible eye roll)
Me: I KNEW you had quiche – but when I glanced at your plate, what I saw was remnants of pumpkin pie with a mound of whipped cream
Him: You need help
Me: No, I have an imagination
Him: No, you really need help
____________________________
I kept smiling – but inside, I was frowning and I actually allowed myself to wonder for a moment if perhaps I really am a little teeny-tiny bit crazy. (I even asked my best friend – who assured me via email I’m not. Then again, birds of a feather …)
I left clutching the file to my chest and wanting to smuggle his plate out to serve as ‘Exhibit A’.
I would then have been able to show it to other people in the building. I needed confirmation that it wasn’t just me. After all, it was only this week no one could see my snowman’s arm!
Instead of giving more people reason to believe I need help of the mental kind, I have reenacted his plate using mine. (Which isn’t weird at all … okay, it’s totally weird, but it was the lesser of two weirds.)
You can’t tell me this doesn’t look like pumpkin and whipped cream! No? Squint.
Beauty (and the insecurity beast)
A man said to me today, “Does your guy know how skinny and beautiful you are?”
Any other time and I would have been offended – I am uncomfortable receiving compliments – I have learned to say ‘Thank you” but – mostly I’m in knots inside not wanting to be noticed.
I’m not a ‘girly’ girl. I don’t wear heels, don’t need spas or salons or haircuts. I don’t dye my hair or buy purses or shoes. My favorite flower is the tiny grass daisy.
I really try not to call attention to myself. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry – will only wear silver-colored metals – no super short skirts or low-cut tops. I wear minimal make up, no colored polish on my fingernails and no busy patterns on my clothes.
Today, I responded in a moment of complete honesty. I surprised myself when I looked him in the eye and said, “You know, I’m scared I’m not enough.”
He looked at me and asked, “Does he know your heart? That you’re beautiful inside?”
“Yes. I think so.”
And I know that’s what counts. I’m not shallow. I’m not ignorant.
But if I’ve ever wanted to feel beautiful, to be looked upon through the eyes of someone special and seen as beautiful – it’s now.
The knots inside are of a new kind. Because beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and there are eyes I want to please.
And what if I’m not enough?
My snowman’s arm
I was sent on a mission. My boss wants to hand out some treats tomorrow at the realtors meeting – and asked me to get cards and handwrite 25 of the ‘thank you’ variety.
Mission accepted.
I went to our local Wal-Mart (yes, back again) with my bosses money in my pocket and headed to the card section. I also couldn’t pass up some adorable glittered, holiday stickers. Nothing spruces up an envelope like a bedazzled snowman.
Speaking of snowmen … I was headed out the garden department exit when I spied, with my little holiday eye, a stick.
Only, it was never just a ‘stick’ from the moment I laid eyes on it.
I bent down, scooped it up and held it in front of me like a precious trophy.
I couldn’t wait to get back to the office and show it off.
As I came through the main door, I held out my ‘stick’ and said to the receptionist, “Look what I found!!!”
To which she responded … “A Charlie Brown Christmas tree?”
“No. It’s a snowman’s arm!”
“Oh, okay.”
Alright – I’ll try my boss.
“Look what I found!”
He glanced up, “A stick?”
*Sigh*
“It’s a snowman’s arm!”
I took my arm and my thank you cards and stickers and disappeared into my office.
A realtor came by.
“Look what I found!” (this time I wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination) “It’s a snowman’s arm!”
“Are you sure it’s not a leg?”
“Snowmen don’t have legs! Well … except for Frosty I suppose … anyway, it’s an arm … and I’m keeping it.”
He left me finishing up my cards and wondering about snowmen legs – and also contemplating the very real possibility that I might be the only one around here that sees bears in clouds and arms in sticks. I don’t think I can be though.
Here’s the arm – you decide.
Debauchery Soup 