Let Us Pray

Awakening this morning to the new Killer B's: Bush, Breach, and Burke. It may not be the end of the world, but pessimism and change are in the air. Anheuser Bush may succumb to InBev. The Pin Oak Levy has been breached and Winfield is inundated. Archbishop Burke, the archnemesis of Catholics who think beyond legalism, is off to the Vatican. So many bishops, so few thinking men--who will be next to lead us back to pre-Vatican II? OOPS, my pessimism is showing. Maybe the gene pool of choices holds another mutation like Gregory. I must pray and be hopeful.

Ok, that was fun. My daughter created a mosaic in her blog and suggested readers try the same. It involves searches for key words on FLICKER. This is my result. The pics represent answers to 12 questions (my answers in blue):
1. What is your first name? Cheryl 2. What is your favorite food? popcorn 3. What high school did you attend? Notre Dame 4. What is your favorite color? red 5. Who is your celebrity crush? S.C. 6. What is your favorite drink? hot apple cider 7. Where would you go on your dream vacation? Strawberry Resevoir 8. What is your favorite dessert? spice cake 9. What do you want to be when you grow up? writer 10. What do you love most in life? learning 11. Choose one word to describe you? complicated 12. Your Flickr name? Wibbenmeyer--don't ask

Hum a Few Bars

Then there is music, something I need to incorporate into my daily life. Like praying and poetry, music helps me get in touch with myself. Music actually is praying and poetry, isn’t it?

Depressed?

Have you ever tried to convince yourself that you are not depressed? Such a loaded question. . .Obviously I have been depressed, so by admitting that, I may deny my own ability to recognize the condition in myself. Mental illness, you know. "Those" people do not always have all of their faculties intact, to loosely and badly quote J.D. Salinger. There is the conundrum. I begin to feel eerily drawn into Yossarian's world in Catch 22. And I detect a theme of not being able to win, no matter what (see June 5 below).

But I do not feel the inability to feel that accompanies depression. I am alternately sad, angry, stuck, even happy. Therefore, I declare myself not depressed. Now to work on that stuck thing, I need to motivate myself. Which should I choose, the carrot or the stick?

Some may jump to the conclusion that I am schizophrenic with so much talking to and about myself, but of course that diagnosis would be wrong on two counts. First of all, multiple personalities do not equate to schizophrenia. It was once called MPD for multiple personality disorder, but the latest label is Dissociative Identity Disorder. Secondly, I do not have more than one distinct personality. I have known people who have, and I am not that interesting.

Tuesday's Class

Tonight's class sucked. Maybe there is a more polite word but I doubt it would be as accurate. As a teacher, I need to take ownership of the classes I teach and that has not happened this quarter, at least not on Tuesday evenings. Not wanting to embarrass anyone involved (except myself), I will leave the description vague: I did little; some students likewise did little; a couple of students tried but fell short of expectations; some students did too much and respected too little; some students performed well in spite of the rest of us. All in all, it was mediocre but only in the sense of averages. Sometimes I think I do better as a student. It is a freer role.
Late night television, on the other hand, has cheered me on to throw myself back into life full throttle. Botox and a stomach band should do the trick. I am particularly drawn to the diagram of a stomach with the constricting band at the top. And it's adjustable, in case I were to lose height, I'm guessing.

Just Choose

There is so much I could do, but instead I live this life. Some days I just choose not to choose. I glance at the small artist's print on the shelf of St. Francis contemplating a skull and I consider his intensity. Maybe I should ask him to pray for me that I be likewise inspired. Then the slogan "Be careful what you ask for. . ." comes to mind.
I have been reading higher education propaganda again. It's enough to wring any passion right out of me.

And the Winner Is. . .Never Me

It occurred to me today that when I fight myself, I am always the loser. I have been doing a lot of that lately--fighting myself. I need to either find some other worthy adversary or else take up a less pugilistic hobby.

Some days just feel like I am trying to fill this bathtub. I know better but there it is.

Sunday

Father Cavanaugh was the homilist today. We get published authors, music writers, and all kinds of learned, sometimes famous Jesuits telling us what's on their minds. Today was about building on stone versus sand. Father introduced the homily by saying he had been thinking about this for a long time and he might not make sense. It would be stream of consciousness. I understood him perfectly. We were in sync, even with the slight overlay of fear that he would go somewhere political Terry would not want to go. It was a little like closing my eyes and and swaying while humming the tune to a familiar song. Later in the day I tried to share the thoughts, if not the feeling, with Terry, but I fell flat. The tune was just beyond my reach, so I stopped trying to hum lest I lose it all together. Maybe I will be able to sing it later after it bumps around in my head a while longer.