Tuesday is alright for blogging

Okay, it's Tuesday. On Tuesdays and Thursday I post here, plus the Friday Five if I can do it. Right. So, hi. How are y'all (and by y'all I mean no one since no one reads this anymore)?

School: School is going swimmingly one --swimmingly like a salmon trying to flip flip flip his way up a waterfall. Taking 15 or 18 credits (I can't remember right now) while working more-than-fulltime has sucked my brains out with a straw. I'm feeling good about keeping my 4.0 untarnished because I am going to graduate summa cum laude if it kills me. I'm trying to prepare myself in the unfortunate event I am not seen as seminary material and have to go to Yale Divinity as a back-up.

When Yale is your back-up, you need that 4.0.

Work: Work is hard. I suppose that's why it's called work instead of "getting paid to jerk around on the internet." I have taken on a new responsibility which is currently a bit more than I can chew, and I've got a big mouth so that's saying something.

Church: Feeling pretty good, in fact my very first ho'made (pretty much) liturgy is going to have its debut tonight at this extended discovery class I'm co-facilitating. The class itself isn't going especially well in my opinion, it's a little dry. Next week my church is hosting the diocesan convention and I'm giving myself permission to not do a damn thing about it. So there.

Litany of the calendar

Oh my gosh y'all, I am worn out. In fact, I wouldn't even be blogging if I had the energy to get off the couch, slug down a few Aleve and go to bed. So here's what's going on with me. I'm taking 18 credits this semester, which is a lot. I couldn't swing 18 credits the first time I was in college and didn't have a job or pets or a life outside the gilded halls of my Almost Mater. Of course I'm still working my reg'lar 40+ hour work-week, AND doing all my church stuff AND taking care of my new puppy and my slightly more grown up puppy, neither of which see the appeal of peeing outside (perhaps I've overshared).

So here's the deal. I will blog here Tuesday and Thursdays and do the RevGal Friday Five either on Friday or sometime during the weekend. That's all, that's all I can do.

I've still got my regular work-blog, Miss Adventure, where I have resolved to blog on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Friends, I just can't do any more writing. Cannot.

My wonderful rector says he stays sane by making sure to obey the litany of the calendar, so this is my litany.

Now I'm going to sleep.

A Rainy Sunday

My dogs are more sophisticated than I am, or at least more glamourous. This should come as no surprise to anyone as my Chinese Shar-Pei and English Bulldog are both better bred than I. THEY are lounging on a gorgeous 19th century canopy bed watching Capote. I, on the other hand, am scrunched up on my well-loved (and well-used) red couch, typing away. Doing homework, getting my columns ready for next week, trying to get a jump on this semester's reading.


In happier news, I have availed myself of Torrid.com's clearance sale. Once upon a time they used to carry great rockabilly clothes, especially dresses. Now, not so much, but I did pick up four lovely tunic-length (which means "regular length" for long-waisted me) angora-esque sweaters in mulberry, cadet blue, grey and some other color I can't remember at this precise moment. Oh! My order says I ordered one in loganberry (not mulberry) and another of a slightly different style in purple.


It says "Look! I'm compassionate yet age-appropriate and fun! You can pair me with a nice skirt for a meeting, jeans for Bible study, or your 50's bad-girl denim capris and kitten heels for beer and bands at Beerland! Just throw on some of yjavascript:viewDetail();our favorite vintage jewelry and go!"

Then I hopped right over to Sizeappeal.com, which, despite having a terrible name and very hit and miss clothing (lots of useless ruffles and hoochiewear) occasionally has something so slap-you-in-the-face fabulous that you cannot imagine how you ever lived without it, like the bateau neck, 3/4 sleeve, just-below-the-knee black wiggle dress I just purchased, which can be dressed up, down or even worn with pants if you're into that sort of thing.

Of course, all sensible-clothes and no play makes Rhiannon a dull girl so I nabbed a subtle skull-print bandana to wear a hair-scarf/headband, a pair of earrings with revolvers danging from them to wear during target practice at Red's Indoor Range (Monday is Ladies Night! Free gun rental and half-price range-time!) and a nice silver flying swallow keychain to use in conjunction with the keys to a car I hope to pick up next Saturday, weather permitting.

Sex, drugs and Leonard Cohen

Hello pals, please excuse my lapse in posting. It won't happen again --at least not without warning--

I'm sitting at my desk, watched over by Checks and Balances (my two folk-art vultures) and listening to Leonard Cohen. I feel badly about Leonard Cohen. He could have been a mystic, but he couldn't get past the sex. Jung wrote that a drug user is a failed mystic. I say anyone called to greatness who trades the divine intoxicant for an earthly one is failed, too.

I once knew a failed man. He could have been great, a great mystic and priest but there was something in the blur of skin and smoke that took him away from the divine. To ask him, he saw the divine in those lungfuls of smoke and handfuls of flesh. That may be true, but I suspect it's cowardice. It's peeking through slightly spread fingers because the movie has gotten too scary or the sun has gotten too bright.

I've been abstinent for five years. It's a constant struggle but God has given me considerable gifts, gifts which terrify and humble me. I don't want to be another failed mystic. I don't want to turn around and realize I'm 50 years old with nothing to show for my faith but dog-eared copies of Kierkegaard, a husband with a leash and a great enthusiasm for an après dinner bong hit.