Confessions

an easter confession.

in , ,


when i was little i wasn't afraid of death. i wasn't afraid of an afterlife.

i was afraid of the three days between those two things. the three days when one's body was stuck in a grave. underground. 

that's what i thought it all meant....it took Jesus three days to rise from the dead...so it would be three days between death and the afterlife. three days when even the soul would lie dormant, interred beneath the sun. 


how i long for that innocence. and clarity. and freedom from the fear of things not worth fearing. 

Today.

in ,


Today I woke up and had five (or was it six?) cupcakes for breakfast--don't panic Mom, I'm fine. Today I rued the fact that I don't have a bedroom door that opens and closes--too much noise, not enough privacy. Today my favorite picture fell of the wall, with absolutely no warning--adding to the mess I find myself cleaning every five minutes. Today my landlord kept the heater on all morning despite warmer weather outdoors--where was the heat when we actually needed it? Today, today--it's just gonna be one of those days, isn't it?









A College Degree?

in ,



I excitedly called my father a few nights ago.

Dad, Dad, you'll never believe it...George Eliot was actually a woman!

You see, I've been reading this great book entitled, Once Again to Zelda. It recounts the true stories behind those often cryptic dedications in literature's beloved and best-known works. The title refers to the tumultuous relationship between F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife. 

It's a fantastic read and I'd highly recommend it. I mean really, these people's lives...you just can't make that shit up (pardon my oh-so-politely-placed French).

So my father says, Yeah...you didn't know that? Wow, that says a lot about your high school education. 

But the thing is I had a really fantastic high school education. I could talk about transcendentalism and romanticism till I was blue in the face. And then I could go on for a little while about Faulkner or Joseph Heller. Hell, I could even talk about Myth and Meaning and Joseph Campbell. But I did not know that George Elliot was actually a woman.

So after a minute my dad said, Yeah, I guess it actually says more about your college education.

So I'm left to ask this question: is a Bachelor of Fine Arts more of a euphemism than a degree?