The newly ordained Reverend Bob has brought to light an interesting point. Technically, through virtue of the weeb, I can become a reverend, too.
A Reverend Mother, even. Y'know, a Bene Gesserit. (seein' as SOME people still insist on calling me witch.)
I'll think about it. This whole playing games with the god concept still leaves me uncomfortable. I don't like the idea of god. Sure, I liked playing pagan and lover-of-nature, and I did get some pretty good lovin' back, back then.
But I'm not sure I'm ready to buy into a structure still so strongly attatched to one of the Greater Mistakes of Mankind.
Why is it everytime we start out, meaning well, we invariably FUCK IT UP AGAIN.
Including me, when I go too far.
Religion/god was a great idea. If they hadn't ruined it by taking themselves too fucking seriously (another reason I'd like to thank Malkavia for her assasination attempt, I think I was starting to take myself a little too seriously too), it would've been nice to have some comfort to fall back to, lean into on the cold, lonely evenings.
Like last night's blizzard, where all I had to comfort me was the fact that I handed in my letter of resignation this morning. (They still want me to work my two weeks, though. Go figure. *shrug*)
I'm all over the place today. I'm not finished my essay for school (still need a hefty conclusion), I'm still spinning a little from all the attention this weekend (q, you are *such* a delightful pain in the arse. Almost as lovely as a squirrel. *wink*), and from Shammy's oddly strong response to my e-mail (he called me his coffin queen?!?), and from the terrifying exam this Friday. And I still haven't picked a job...
Meeep.
I want to collapse into one of those towering mounds outside, dragging you underneath a layer or two of ponderous, wet snow, and hide with you until we're both warmed and rested to the center of our bones.
I want to explore you with the fingers of my gloves cut off, discovering the secrets of your heavy winter garb and tossing it aside, away from the coccoon.
I want to coccoon. With you. (well, most of you, really, except for cf cuz he's my bitch, and apatheticq, cuz his staggering resemblance to a squirrel disturbs me. I mean, the man even talks about having sex with squirrels. Well, sorta. I could be twisting his words a little. Maybe. If'n you believe me to be the sort to do that sort of thing.)
Riiiiiiiight.
I'd better sign off now.
Namaste,
(reverend mother?) Monstre.