we interrupt my half written soviet politics essay to bring you the profundity which greeted me on the side of the trader joe's box of tea:

"Poor Mrs. Benefer," Heather murmured. "Well, a nice cup of tea and she'll be right as rain." "Oh, puhleeze, Heather. A cup of tea, indeed. A nice cup of tea, two Prozac, and sleep for a week, maybe..."

C.C. Benison, Death at Sandringham House

just what the doctor ordered, c.c., you temptress.

i am officially delirious now. and oddly not tired or cranky.

perhaps it was all the matt nathanson and maroon 5 i listened to whilst i was not writing my paper.

perhaps it was the epiphianic moment i had when i received my ashes today. yes, in good catholic tradition i went and got dirt on my forehead. you know what? i attend church on a fairly regular basis, maybe not weekly, but frequently enough-- and i hate ash wednesday, i think it's freaky. so why the hell do all those non-church goers show up on ash wednesday? i mean jeez. it's the weirdest and most depressing day of the church year. but you know, it all goes back to my theory that people are materialistic bastards, not the least of whom are quasi-catholics. they want souvenirs, and ashes and palms are about as exciting as the catholic church gets in that department... (*comments about the lasting mental trauma from clergy's sexual abuse aside, please.) you know? (some) jewish people have yarmulkes. (some) muslims have headdresses. (not entirely sure what they're called.) we have ashes, i guess. but, you get the point, i am trying to be facetious and its not working out. anyway, i totally digress from my own ash experience.

the dude who gave me my ashes (not a priest) had this totally quiet, yet extremely powerful voice. and when he said "repent, and spread the good news" i actually think it was god talking. so, i'm sorry... and the world isn't all that bad.

that's all i've got.

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