Ah. Finding time for blogging. If your life is boring, you don't wanna write
about it and if your life is interesting, you have no Time to write about
it.
Mine has been a combination of both. Timewise, I've been burning out from
school and work and there there's my impending end of contract on the 15th
and the quest for jobs yet again and wondering if I will make it thru again.
This time without a severance package to pull me through.
Okay, that's the mundane stuff.
I had a weird, frightening, creepy, comforting, angelic thing happen to me
last weekend.
I've told the long story over and over, so the short story is that I broke
down crying (bawling) on Saturday. Uncontrollably. When it was all over, not
that I was really calm or anything, I realized that my outburst coincided
with the death of JP2. This incident occurred two hours before I had heard
the news. I have a receipt from Jack-in-the-Crack that reads 1:18pm and my
phone rang at 2:00, as I walked into my house to sleep off my tears. The
pope died at 1:37pm. I was in a state of calm for a few days thereafter.
Trying to understand what it all meant.
For those of you that don't know, I just recently started to go back to
church. It's something that reminds me of home since I was a military brat,
we didn't see too much stability in our surroundings. As a child I learned
that any Catholic church in the world was being taught the same things each
week and that "Amen" crosses all language barriers. When I feel homesick, I
tend to think about going to church. I am, by far, not regular about it yet,
every other week seems to be my pattern.
I don't agree with all of it, but who does? I decided long ago that I was
not going to leave the Catholic church to find one that fit into my
lifestyle or belief of the moment because I know I won't find it.
Enough of that.
I will be going to FIESTA in San Antonio this weekend. To PARTY. I'll
report back. Over and out!
