The World As Mare Sees It...
Sacrilege. Except, not so grand. Also, rather silly. 2005-03-20

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Diaryland

Today is the first day of spring, so quite naturally, the snow is coming down with a rather startling tenacity. It is Toronto, after all.

It's Sunday, a lazy Sunday; I'd considered going to church to receive this year's palms, but as I was gaining a lot more salvation swaddled in sheets and sleep and silence, I thought that it'd be best to leave well enough alone. I was never very crafty with the blessed fronds, anyway. By the end of Mass, instead of neat little crosses, all I'd have left were cracked and stringy stalks, and nary a trace of salvation.

Instead, it was easier to stay where I was; I'd long since stopped hearing the priest and the hour would only be one long un-holy fantasy, broken only by standing and kneeling and Communion. And prayer. (I pray after Communion, but only because I'm enough of a Catholic to fear Hell and Damnation and Guilt. Also, while I pray, it gives me ample time to surreptiously survey the outfits of my fellow parishioners, as they parade by after receiving their bit of unleavened bread.)

Bless me Father, for I do sin, every time I'm in Your House, not hearing Your Words, because the ears that You gave me done don't work. Rather than straining to listen to what always manages to be a heavy and unintelligible accent, it is easier for me to imagine Father So-and-So is waxing poetic about man loving man, and not being shunned or slighted or smited. (How does one smite, by the way? Is there a recognized practice?) And then, bless me Father, as that whole wish will lead to a re-run of Queer as Folk in my head because - and I thank you for this, God - that freaking hot specimen of male, Brian Kinney, walks around naked on our good, green Earth. And on camera. Sometimes, full-frontally.

Forgive me, Father, for I choose to lie in bed on Sunday mornings, instead of sitting in Your House, because that inevitably leads to hot man-on-man action in my head, and I'm afraid that I will one day just burst into flames, right there, in the third pew. I know it all sounds rather self-serving God, because I really don't look good with a sunburn, but honestly, it's Palm Sunday. Aren't those things highly flammable? Isn't it just better this way?

God help me. Iím going straight to hell, arenít I?


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