Fool Disclosure
Caution: Deeply maudlin and self-indulgent material.
I can remember the exact moment the main fuse in my brain blew. I was headed up Mayfield Road, my 5-year-old son in the back seat, racing to pick up my 9-year-old daughter from school. I'd had to leave Mama back at the emergency room. This, you see, was too much. I'm still young. I'm 37. I'm immature enough to believe there's still a rock star inside me somewhere. When I'd signed for my first mortgage, looking around the bank, I had thought to myself, "Um, shouldn't an adult be here to do this? Where's Dad?" Lightning bolt: you are Dad. That bolt strikes often now, and it burns.
Mama has lupus, which is bad. This month alone, Mama's had a hefty serving of pneumonia on lupus with a side of stomach flu. That's really bad. When we moved into our house a couple of years ago, we purchased a treadmill so Mama could continue her 5 a.m. runs of 8 miles day. Now she's in bed a good part of the day in debilitating pain. I approached the house after work earlier this year to find the ambulance out front and my daughter in hysterics at the front door. This is when the remainder of cells in my brain blew. There are many strong people out there who thrive on this sort of challenge. I'm not one of those people. I hate it. I'm weak and petulant and I resent it. If I can find a color that's left, I'm gonna come out with the THIS BITES bracelet, and all proceeds will be flushed down the toilet.
That said, I cannot thank my online sister Dawn enough for the prayers and inspiration. Even though she's referred to me at least twice now in her blog as a Christian blogger, I'm actually...organ cue...an atheist. The world's most reluctant atheist to be sure, and certainly not proud of it, but still: if you shoot me up with sodium pentothal and hook me up to the lie detector, the results are going to be pretty bleak. I am most decidedly not your typical ACLU-lovin' media atheist, though, just too damn smart to believe in God; I'm too damn smart not to appreciate living in a Christian nation among devout Christian people. Did God send Dawn into my life when I needed it? I can't honestly say I believe that, but am I complaining? I'm happy to be wrong in this case.
(I'm happy to ramble on about this at length and likely will later. Oh yeah, to reduce confusion: I'm not from Kansas, nor am I a saint. It's just a reference to the Oz-like nature of the world today...This ain't Kansas. That's the joke, people.)
Thanks very much for the prayers, sincerely. I'm able to write now because, after another seeming onset of dystonic shock this morning and some Fly-like whimpers for help, the missus and I decided to go for the knockout drugs rather than the ER on New Year's Day. My son Mini is showing his father's poor taste by enjoying a post-tsunami game of Hurricane Havoc. I've decided that anything is bearable if you don't have children; 90 percent of my effort now is directed toward keeping them insulated from panic and pain.
P.S. I'm probably Dr. Charles Stanley's biggest nonbelieving fan, so let me share a quote of his that touched me a lot last year: "All tempation is based on fantasy -- that is, our imagination of life under different circumstances." The adult in me is trying to accept the circumstances.
UPDATE: Skip Million Dollar Crybaby. If you want to live the Saint Kansas lifestyle vicariously, rent The Others (for photosensitivity and traumatized children), Ethan Fromme (for ridiculous fortune and the tests of marriage), and The Jerk, just 'cause it's still funny. Go ahead and throw Witness in there as well. It's the height of self-flattery on my part, but though I may side with those who turn the other cheek, I have no religous objection to punching back.
UPDATE 2: Music fans might enjoy Catherine Wheel's great Chrome, which features both Pain (her) and Broken Head (me).
I can remember the exact moment the main fuse in my brain blew. I was headed up Mayfield Road, my 5-year-old son in the back seat, racing to pick up my 9-year-old daughter from school. I'd had to leave Mama back at the emergency room. This, you see, was too much. I'm still young. I'm 37. I'm immature enough to believe there's still a rock star inside me somewhere. When I'd signed for my first mortgage, looking around the bank, I had thought to myself, "Um, shouldn't an adult be here to do this? Where's Dad?" Lightning bolt: you are Dad. That bolt strikes often now, and it burns.
Mama has lupus, which is bad. This month alone, Mama's had a hefty serving of pneumonia on lupus with a side of stomach flu. That's really bad. When we moved into our house a couple of years ago, we purchased a treadmill so Mama could continue her 5 a.m. runs of 8 miles day. Now she's in bed a good part of the day in debilitating pain. I approached the house after work earlier this year to find the ambulance out front and my daughter in hysterics at the front door. This is when the remainder of cells in my brain blew. There are many strong people out there who thrive on this sort of challenge. I'm not one of those people. I hate it. I'm weak and petulant and I resent it. If I can find a color that's left, I'm gonna come out with the THIS BITES bracelet, and all proceeds will be flushed down the toilet.
That said, I cannot thank my online sister Dawn enough for the prayers and inspiration. Even though she's referred to me at least twice now in her blog as a Christian blogger, I'm actually...organ cue...an atheist. The world's most reluctant atheist to be sure, and certainly not proud of it, but still: if you shoot me up with sodium pentothal and hook me up to the lie detector, the results are going to be pretty bleak. I am most decidedly not your typical ACLU-lovin' media atheist, though, just too damn smart to believe in God; I'm too damn smart not to appreciate living in a Christian nation among devout Christian people. Did God send Dawn into my life when I needed it? I can't honestly say I believe that, but am I complaining? I'm happy to be wrong in this case.
(I'm happy to ramble on about this at length and likely will later. Oh yeah, to reduce confusion: I'm not from Kansas, nor am I a saint. It's just a reference to the Oz-like nature of the world today...This ain't Kansas. That's the joke, people.)
Thanks very much for the prayers, sincerely. I'm able to write now because, after another seeming onset of dystonic shock this morning and some Fly-like whimpers for help, the missus and I decided to go for the knockout drugs rather than the ER on New Year's Day. My son Mini is showing his father's poor taste by enjoying a post-tsunami game of Hurricane Havoc. I've decided that anything is bearable if you don't have children; 90 percent of my effort now is directed toward keeping them insulated from panic and pain.
P.S. I'm probably Dr. Charles Stanley's biggest nonbelieving fan, so let me share a quote of his that touched me a lot last year: "All tempation is based on fantasy -- that is, our imagination of life under different circumstances." The adult in me is trying to accept the circumstances.
UPDATE: Skip Million Dollar Crybaby. If you want to live the Saint Kansas lifestyle vicariously, rent The Others (for photosensitivity and traumatized children), Ethan Fromme (for ridiculous fortune and the tests of marriage), and The Jerk, just 'cause it's still funny. Go ahead and throw Witness in there as well. It's the height of self-flattery on my part, but though I may side with those who turn the other cheek, I have no religous objection to punching back.
UPDATE 2: Music fans might enjoy Catherine Wheel's great Chrome, which features both Pain (her) and Broken Head (me).
posted by Saint Kansas at 9:21 AM
5 Comments:
I wonder why I thought you were a Christian. Maybe it's because whenever you wrote about Christian topics, you supported the faith. Also, for all the &*%$#!@ language you throw around, you come across as a social conservative—not one of those "South Pak" porn conservatives. And most importantly, unlike other atheists I've known, you really don't try to justify yourself. You just write what you believe, without inflating it with claims of superior Reason and Logic.
Cool! A comment from Dawn!
I'm sure there's a term more accurate than "atheist." Wanting to believe surely isn't itself belief, is it?
Oddly enough, my spiritual kin so far is Emily Dickinson. How ^$%*ed up is that?
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