confessional 3

Hi, Jesus.

You get a lot of shit. Maybe that was part of the deal. Your name would forever be connected to the fun police, the close minded puritans, the wolves in sheeps' clothing, the war mongers, the hate peddlers; they even turned you into a white man. If it all went down like the story says, all you did was obey your Dad and sacrifice yourself for the good of all mankind.

Sorry, dawg. Maybe you should have been a rebelious snot in your teen age years like most of your followers. Maybe you should have told the man upstairs to go fuck himself and get a little hot loving from Mary Magdelene. I might not go to the churches they've erected in your name, but I'm down with you, Jesus. I carry you around on my key chain. Hey, if it wasn't for you, and some pagan festival, we never would have gotten Christmas, and that's pretty dope. It gets me out of this small town dead end and back to the city for a couple of weeks. I get to see my mom, dad, sister and dog, and all is right with the world. Amen.

I suppose I should confess, though I doubt you really care for such formalities, but I was a big bad sinner this weekend. I pit my immortal soul against my humanity, and as usual, the baser things in life won out. Work's been really tough on me lately, mostly because I lack confidence in myself, so after gathering all my energy and swallowing a whole lot of pride to sneak in under a deadline on the magazine I really don't like, I had to blow off some steam. I got the monthly pain in my neck and shoulder. I think that's where I store my stress. It feels terrible, too. A shooting pain that makes it tough to walk or sit at my computer. It's not getting nailed to a cross or anything, clearly, but it still kinda raw, and, well, I'm a bit of a pussy.

I drank like a fish on Friday night, Good Friday. I went to a rock show and blew through whatever bar trade I had. I ogled women in tight shirts in a lustful manner. I had impure thoughts, but not too many. I drank too much booze. That Irish Car Bomb at last call wasn't entirely my fault. It's hard to turn down a free drink, and damn near impossible when it's offered by a woman. Most of all, I enjoyed every minute of it.

It's not that I didn't repent for it, though. I knew when I passed out on the couch that the morning would not be a good one, and it wasn't. The pain in my neck, the pain in my head, I would have been happily decapitated. Three scrambled eggs, two Big Macs and a steak dinner were required to beat back the pain of being a bit too old to go out binge drinking on a Friday night.

Easter Sunday was great, though. Kudos again on that one. I went and hung out with a family, and I was in the minority. I was one of the few who didn't have a spouse and kids. I look at babies now and wonder if I'll ever get one of those things; it scares the shit out of me. We joked around, laughed a lot, and the kids ran around and acted like kids.

I ate more meat at one time than I may ever have before on a day that wasn't Thanksgiving. They had ham, chicken, hot dogs, carnitas, and I gobbled up just about all of it. By the end of the night I had to loosen my belt two notches. I wondered why I even wore the thing. I should have known better. I scrounged some leftovers, too. They're in the fridge now; I might grab myself a cupcake.