Lunch shift? Boring.

At Freedom Place there are two notable things. Annie, one of the volunteers, who I hadn’t seen for a long time came in and said she was stressed. I was unable to glean why she was upset from her dialog with Rob, which I tried to eavesdrop on. All I heard was the word “boyfriend” about five times. I think she was feeling overwhelmed by life and maybe something to do with her boyfriend compounded it all. She and Amanda sat in the doorway and talked. Well, Annie, talked. Amanda unwittingly went into dog mode and just listened. They left early, no doubt to help deal with Annie’s upsetness. I overheard Annie use the word “xanga” a lot. These sort of online journals just serve as a dumping ground for this mini-generations thoughts and pains and occasionally joys. Do they serve any real purpose? Other than a cheap psychologist or, cheaper still, bartender? Listening to our complaints? An improved diary perhaps, where a person can write down their thoughts in the hopes that by doing so they can make sense of the madness of daily life? And, of course, the addition of their personal contacts being able to read about how messed up they, or their life is. Forget the “Cry For Help” suicide attempt, I’ve got a web journal.

During small groups time, Rob paired me up with two girls, who I didn’t know their names, and still don’t, I guess, and we were supposed to read a handouts question, and then the answers it presented, and then discussed. Pretty straight forward, huh? Well, my group deviated. They started asking me questions about the Bible. “What about this, what about that?” so fast sometimes I couldn’t finish answering one before the next one came. Here comes the awkward moment. I said that I thought Wicca is a bunch of BS. One of the girls said “Wicca is my religion,”. Great. I’m trying to be good, and supportive, and helpful for these kids. Now I’m directly crapping on one of their belief systems. I did what I do best in these situations, started the verbal wiggle. I’ve painted myself into a corner, and now I’ve got to either wait for the floor to dry or start thinking outside of the box I’ve just painted the floor of. I did what I could. I didn’t back down from my first statement. Wicca is a chunk of BS. I did the Wicca thing for awhile. It’s no different from the cutting or the pyromania. It’s a want for control of life and the reality around us. Christianity doesn’t really offer that. In fact, pretty much the opposite. We’re supposed to submit to the will of God, while with any sort of magic oriented religion, the practitioners directly influence Creation through spells. Is that the one and only reason why I think Wicca is a bunch of nonsense? Nah. A man in the nineteen thirties or forties started to build what we call “Wicca” today out of many different pieces of Paganism and occultism. His name was Gerald Gardner, a “civil servant” in Britain. I put him on the same page as Aliester Crowley, a brilliant charlatan. The word “charlatan” connotates a demeaning feel to it, and I think that’s bad in this case. Both of these guys managed to mastermind a revolution in the occult world, and changed things forever. No better word comes to mind though.

Fractured pieces of other Pagan sects and factions mashed together and taught to people how it’s a new revelation or has actually been around and been around that way forever… Eh. Sloppy business, if you ask me. But let’s move on.

After Freedom Place, I asked my mom if she knew if we had a taller ladder than the one she’d been using to paint with. She told me that there was one in the basement. She asked me what I needed a ladder for. “Killing birds,” I replied. She didn’t really ask me any further questions. Either no one really thinks that it’s a good idea to pry any further into the things I do than they do, or maybe she hates those birds too, but no further questions. I put the ladder up on the porch with the idea of putting a handful of rub tobacco mixed with birdseed into the nest outside of my window in the hopes that the birds would eat the tobacco mixed with the birdseed and it would stop their hearts. The ladder didn’t sit real well on the side of the house, so I didn’t risk going all the way up, and I was still far out of reach of the nest. After a overhand toss of the mix towards the eaves, I managed to come back down the ladder covered in tobacco and bird seed. Crystal was summoned to hold the ladder. Still short of the nest, I tossed again, with better success, but this time both of us got the shower of tobacco and bird seed. I’ll post if those birds die or not. If they don’t, I’ll go back to trying to spear them from my window.

Hillary cut my hair. The idea was this. She gets to use my hair to practice on and then I shave my head down. Three out of three females in this house liked the way she cut my hair and protested me shaving my head down. Fine. I’ll leave it for at least a couple days. At New Hope, I decided, once there, that I should have stayed home. They showed a video about the advent, and suppression by the Catholic church, of the modern Bible. The second half will be shown next week. With the exception of the rather blatant anti-Catholic spin on the video, I’m enjoying it greatly. I think that Catholics today have a lot of unnecessary facets to their religious process, but I wouldn’t go so far to say that Catholicism as a whole is a bad thing. But, yeah, the Catholic church between about 500AD and somewhere around 1700AD was a pretty nasty thing. It oppressed the people it should have been freeing. But, why I should have stayed home is because I kept falling asleep during the service. Twice I was out.

Afterwards, I determined Brittney wanted to go to Steak’N’Shake and I wanted food pretty bad, so I got her to badger Nate into going. I don’t think he wanted to go at all, but she got her job done. We went to Steak’N’Shake, which I’ve complained about a lot before, but I wanted food and I got it. Nate, who claimed to be working on two and a half hours of sleep in the last couple of days finally asked me about the Nasty Nails. I’ve been knowing this New Hope group for a couple of months and I was wondering when someone would work up the courage to ask. I had Nate pegged for the one to ask, but I think it was the sleep deprivation which was making him a little retarded that let him ask. Congratulations, Nate. ;)