Desperate Times
Desperate times call for desperate measures, so they say. Which is why I found myself today at church. It’s been so long, I expected a Monty-Pythonesque Finger of God to come out of the clouds and squash me like a bug before I could enter the building. No such luck.
God only knows the last time I went to confession. Oops, I mean reconciliation. I have enough material to cause a priest’s ears to spew smoke with the sound of a 1,000 pressure cookers going off at once.
But I need help, and something tells me God already knows all my shit, so I took a chance and went, anyway. Maybe 10 people were at Mass, whole thing lasted 20 minutes, which is like SpeedMass or something.
I got there about 10 minutes early, so I could reacquaint myself. See, God and I have a very tenuous relationship. My doing, not His. Like the story goes, I’ve been rather distant from God. God’s answer: “Well, guess who moved?” Yeah, that’d be me.
I don’t feel Him at all these days. Used to, a lot. Nowadays, I’m too busy being miserable to notice Him. I feel like God’s Punching Bag.
So I did the proper standing, kneeling, sitting, standing again things. Took the Eucharist and hoped for miraculous healing. Did my best to pray in my head (“God, I know it’s been a long time, but Holy Crap, do I need help so please do Your thing and erase all the bad shit in my head and make me feel better…”) but heard no response.
And when I walked out of the church and got back in my car, I felt no improvement…just the furnace heat that Florida is producing of late. Then I heard this song come on my iPod:
Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?
--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan




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