Tuesday, April 30, 2013


An especially wicked mood is racing through my head right now — a wicked mood filled with thoughts best suited for other times and other rooms.

It is Tuesday night: confession time for a lapsed Catholic convert. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a while since my last confession, so kick back behind the fixed grill and smoke 'em if you got 'em. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy.

Thanks, Father. I know my sins pretty well — I mean, I lived them and honestly, I thoroughly enjoyed most of them. I know that sounds bad, but seriously, it all depends on your definition of "sin." If we're talking about things like being a libertine ... well, sorry, but I just don't see the big deal. Being restrained by conventional wisdom — now that sounds like a sin, and I'm sorry for that. Mea culpa.

But we're getting off track here, and there's a line forming outside the booth, so here goes. These are my sins: I have held hate in my heart, hate for people I love. I have let the darker angels hold sway over me. I have been unkind and unworthy of the love of others. I have been too full of pride, too eager to boast, too filled with myself and too busy to realize what a dick I've been. And I just said "dick" during confession, which I'm sure is a venial sin, so mark me down for another two Hail Marys.

I have made choices that do not reflect what is in my heart — choices that, looking back on it, made it seem like all I cared about was someone's body and not their heart. I'm especially sorry for that one, Father. It wasn't what I intended at all — it wasn't deliberate — but I won't blame it on Patron or the zone, I won't blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol. Or the other stuff. It's all on me. I will say this: no Goose was involved, only Johnny Black and the occasional bottle of wine. And everyone was of legal age. So there's that.

I have fallen short in trying to keep it light. You know me — I just think too much, and sometimes that caused me to say too much, to ask too many questions, to be a general downer. Again, it wasn't what I intended to do, but it happened, and I'm sorry. As the Patron Saint of Chicks sang, it's a mark I'll carry with me for a long, long time.

On the upside, I have forgiven those who have sinned against me, and that's cool, right? I mean, people have talked smack and I've turned the other cheek, even offered up my shirt. Then again, I haven't always treated people the way I want to be treated, and I haven't alway loved my enemies, so that whole Luke thing is a wash, I guess. Sorry. Forget I said anything about an upside.

Mostly, I guess I want to say I have sinned by not being a good-enough person. I've tried. I've failed. I'm still failing. I do the whole Japanese thing of falling down seven times and getting up eight, but lately I've been more interested in staying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling. I've done careless things that could have ended badly, and those thoughts are still there. Just thinking about them comes pretty close to the whole peccata mortalia line. I may be a lapsed Catholic convert, but I've still got those silly lingering worries about Hell, and trust me, I don't want to go there. It's cold.

I am sorry for my sins with all of my broken black heart. I firmly intend in future to avoid whatever leads me to these kinds of sins. But in the end I chose to do wrong, and I'm paying the consequences every day, with a weeping and a moaning and a gnashing of teeth. Have mercy, even if there can be no forgiveness.

Time for a smoke. Sorry, Father. The wicked mood lingers.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You are forgiven Ron.....No Really!!