i don't have 30 minutes

Due to lack of planning, I'm not going to be able to spend a full thirty minutes typing here, not if I want to be ready in time to go on at 8:00 tonight. Still have to shower, make sure I have everything I need and, if there's time, grab something to eat. I could come home after the show, but had planned on walking down to the Southgate House to catch the Pop Empire show. We'll see how I feel after I'm done playing Bob.

ArtWalk was great today. Great group of people, great exhibits, great discussion afterwards. Definitely needed it. In the time I have left, I'm going to transcribe the thoughts I scribbled down while I was there. The lectionary passage for the day was Mark 2:23-3:-6, which is where the opening thoughts come from. I spent all my time in half of the new photography exhibit, Starburst, a retrospective of '70s color photos. I've had some other thoughts since then, especially after our discussion, which I'll post whenever I make it home. Or tomorrow.

_____________________

Lawful. What does that mean? Full of law? Fitting within prescribed boundaries? Black/White. Right/Wrong. The Pharisees were all bout the law. And loved to point out when others weren't following the rule of law. they used it as a weapon, to discredit those they disagreed with. They, to use a cliche, weren't interested in the spirit of the law, why the law was there in the first place. Their interest was in the letter of the law, in adhering to whatever the law says. Even if that meant the death of another.

Enter Jesus and His disciples, breaking the law, doing what is not lawful. And the Pharisees jump to point it out. How dare you break the law! And you call yourself a teacher, a leader. Look how you lead others astray! Jesus doesn't argue with them, doesn't say, well, it should be legal. He points to what lies behind the law.

This isn't a casual dismissal of all law, a call to anarchy and licentiousness, to only abide by those laws you feel are important. It is a call to look beyond the surface of the law, to see the depth behind it, the story it points to. Not nearly as simple as following the rules, but closer to what the Maker of Rules had in mind.

______________________________

When I was young, my parents kept most of our photos, not in an album, but in a large, topless box under their bed. Sometimes I would sneak in and pull the box out, go through the pictures, looking at these moments captured in time. My parent's honeymoon. Christmases past. Family reunions.

Walking through this exhibit is like crawling under someone else's bed, looking at their captured moments. But these are devoid of the connections and associations we have with our own pictures. We're free to create stories that may or may not have anything to do with the actual capture moment. Isn't that the dream? To write the story behind our own moments, or to rewrite the ones that already exist? To be in control of what the pictures show? Or at the very least, to be freed from the confines of what has already happened?

Æ

forty-two hours later

SO, obviously didn't make it back last night. Could have, but since I'd already written in the morning, I didn't feel the burning desire to jump right back in last night. Plus, you know, I had lots of important things to do. Please, don't ask me what they were.

My opening night as Bob went remarkably well. Crowd seemed to really enjoy it. As I say, never underestimate the power of a man on stage sporting a porn 'stache. Way nervous before going on stage - that hasn't happened in quite a while. But the adrenaline rush helped, as did the good reaction from the audience. Only went up on a couple of lines, and nothing too horrible. Gives me a little confidence going into tomorrow, which, strangely enough, is my closing night as Bob. Fun. Hope it goes as well.

This afternoon after school I came home to take a nap before the show, but couldn't seem to drop off. And then, once I did, my dreams were way whack. Somehow I was out visiting friends and when I returned home, my house had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but smoldering ruins. Without a beat, I went to my parent's house and crashed for the night. When I woke up, I told them the news, but they didn't believe me. And I was like, "Why else would I be sleeping on your couch?" So we walked over to where my house used to be so I could prove to them it had burned down. But somehow we didn't make it there - we ended up at my old neighbor's house and they invited us in. And when I got inside, a bunch of VC people were sitting around a large table and as I walked by, they all got up and left. I tried to say hi to a couple of them, but they averted their eyes and darted for the door, leaving me standing alone, wondering what just happened. And that's when my phone's alarm went off.

All right, all you armchair psychoanalysts. Have at it.

Don't you hate when you rant and rave about something, just because it doesn't go the way you hope it would, then realize it's not nearly as bad as you made it out to be and really, you simply need to get over yourself? Yeah, that happened to me this week. One of the joys of teaching sophomores is preparing them to take the beloved Ohio Graduation Test. Much of our curriculum is designed to help them succeed and Mason's done well with it. In years past, the culmination of this was proctoring the actual test in the spring. Well, this year they changed things up and for the first time since I started teaching, I'm not proctoring the test. Instead I was stuck doing the freshman activities, which basically means babysitting for three hours simply because they don't want to run buses to pick up only the freshmen. Really hacked me off. I mean, I'd invested all this time and now I wasn't going to get to see it through until the end. It's like being a basketball coach and getting them all the way to the state championship, but not being allowed to the final game. So I vented to some friends. Most kindly listened and tried to empathize, but I felt they didn't get it. Anyway, today we had our meeting to go over our responsibilities and while I was sitting there listening to the activities they had planned, I realized I wasn't angry because I wasn't going to be there to help my students take the test. I was angry because I liked having the time during proctoring to get stuff done and I wasn't going to have that this year. I mean, the activities should be right in my wheelhouse - it's exactly the same kind of stuff I used to do as a youth pastor. So this is me, apologizing for my bad attitude and actually looking forward to getting to hang out with students outside of class, which are some of my favorite times anyway.

Tomorrow is ArtWalk, which means I should have plenty to type about. Missed the one earlier this month, so this will be my chance to see the new photography exhibit that's there. Be good to be back in our "church" again. Could be only Rob and I again, though that's fine with me. Lots of good discussion to be had, no matter how many show up. Here's hoping the museum isn't overrun by rugrats like it's been the last couple of times. Have to make sure my iPod is charged up and ready to go, just in case.

Speaking of which, trying to decide what to use my eMusic credits on this month. Pretty sure I'll download the new Los Campesinos! and probably Turns Into Stone by The Stone Roses. They've also got a two CD greatest hits of Emmylou Harris for only 12 credits which I should pick up - amazingly enough, I think I only have a couple of the songs on the collection. Still worth it. Glad I splurged and bought the 50 extra credits last month - gives me a little more freedom. Love me some new music.

Lent is strange once again this year. The fasting part is going well (though I did get honked at on the way home the other day - must've been dosing off and fading into the other lane). But I find myself missing having a weekly gathering to go to. I love Thinplace and the chance I get to experience God there, but I miss the liturgy of a larger gathering. Might have to see about going back to Church of the Redeemer Sunday. Need to get my Eucharist on again.

OK, time to head to bed. ArtWalk isn't until 11:15, so I get to sleep in. Ahhhhh. Here's hoping I can actually do it and not wake up at 5AM as usual. Until tomorrow...

Æ

two hour delay

At least this time I found out about it before I was already at school. Up, showered and mostly dressed by the time I got the call. Happy for the extra time this morning, though again, it wreaks havoc on my lesson plans. Trimester ends in a week. Guess we'll see which students are reading the book instead of relying on class discussion to get the idea of what is going on.

Anyway, figured I'd steal 30 minutes here at the beginning of the day, see if my writing comes any easier. Not that it will matter, really - no way am I going to get up at 4:30AM so I can write. Which begs the question, if I'm not, does that mean I'm not a writer? A writer has to write, no matter what; will sacrifice anything, even sleep, to do so. I am so not that guy.

Funny moment: last night, while taking out the garbage, a bit of red and white caught my eye, just off my front porch. On my way back inside I stopped and picked it up. It was a Netflix envelope. Seems my attempt to mail it out failed because it fell out of the mailbox and then got buried under the snow and only now reemerged. Lovely. Surprised the mailman didn't notice it before, but I suppose he has other things to occupy his mind. Will drop it in the mailbox at the post office, which, after the first debacle, I've been doing with all my returns. Guess I should have checked when it first went missing.

Speaking of movies, today's our first film club meeting of 2010. Should clarify that - first meeting with (keeping my fingers crossed) actual students. We'll see who, if anyone, shows up. We're going to try watching (500) Days of Summer...again. Third time's a charm, right? We'll see. In other movie related news, our local Hollywood Video is going out of business, so I stopped by and took advantage of their misfortune. Picked up three DVDs for $20: It Happened One Night, Henry V and Playing By Heart. Probably a good thing I didn't have more money - could have been quite an expensive day.

Tonight's my dress rehearsal for playing Bob in Beyond Therapy. Have to admit, I'm feeling a bit of pressure. Dave's been doing such a great job as Bob and I have the fear there's going to be a bit of a letdown. I know, I know, must have confidence and it will be fine once I get there. Comparison kills, but hard not to do so in this situation.

Hmmm...time doesn't seem to pass so swiftly here in the morning. This isn't so good.

I almost jumped into the fray on a friend's Facebook post. He claims being a moderate (or "moderate" as he puts it since he doesn't believe they exist) and being a Christian is impossible and to prove his point, posted the following:

For all my "moderate" friends out there who think the "middle road" is the right path... "So, because you are lukewarm--neither hot nor cold--I am about to spit you out of my mouth." Revelation 3:16 New International Version

*sigh* So why did I only almost jump into the fray? Because everyone else saw the post first and said mostly everything I would have said anyway. My friend Mike summed up some of my thoughts well:

1) You do realize the passage isn't referring to politics. And anyway, this whole 'political spectrum categorization' stuff (i.e. crap) is a construction of man (or possibly the Devil)--not God. Both parties take positions, endorse legislation, and espouse views that are not consistent with biblical teaching.

2) You're assuming that one can't be passionately moderate in their political views.

And I could have jumped in with a "Me too!" post, but really, what's the point? Not like posts like that actually encourage discussion. Two sides (well, many more than that, but in that world, there are only two sides - his and everyone that disagrees with him) screaming at each other but never listening to each other. Yes, you could say that about 90% of internet-based communication, but I guess I'm over it (and no, the irony that I'm writing about this on a blog is not lost on me). I've made my viewpoint clear and piling on more words only adds fuel to a fire that will burn no matter what I do or say. Feel free to question my faith because it doesn't fit with your narrow definition, but don't expect me to keep wading in just to give you the opportunity to mock and ridicule it. And I'm sure I'll be called a coward for doing this in my own space instead of posting on said person's blog or page. To quote Phil Collins, I don't care anymore.

OK, I should try to drive to school, get some grading done before students arrive at 9:15. If only every day was like this, I think I'd be a far more adjusted person. At least I'd feel more rested. Hope I can figure out how chop half an hour out of my lesson plans. So much for my hope of at least one full week of classes before final exams next week.

Might be back tonight. We'll see if I have anything worth writing about.

Æ

listening to American VI

Johnny sings in the background as I type this. A little sad, but in a good way.

Wondered why no one said anything about my last post, but it turns out it still hasn't found its way to Facebook. So much for the checking every couple of hours to update. Maybe I should copy and paste and forget the auto update. We'll give it another day and if it doesn't get any better, we'll do it the old-fashioned way.

My latest Netflix treat was a movie I've been meaning to watch for years but never quite got around to it: Harold and Maude. Heard all about it. Knew it's significance in pop culture. My favorite author even wrote a piece about it (sort of). But until tonight I'd never watched it. Such an odd film. I can't imagine it being made today, not by Hollywood anyway. And I can't imagine why it took me so long to see this film. Definitely my kind of flick. May watch it again before mailing it back. At least I have that luxury.

Confession: I started this post about over an hour ago but couldn't get it to go anywhere, so walked away for a bit. Didn't help. Thoughts are hard to come by tonight. Must have used up all my writing mojo last night. Some nights are not meant for writing and this seems to be one of them. Rather than beating myself up for not making it for the full time, I'm stopping now and going to bed and hoping my brain is in a better place tomorrow. But so you have something for taking the time to stop by, here's some more thoughts from Brother Merton, a confession of sorts and one that speaks to where I am tonight. Æ

I am sorry for having let myself become so stupid and so torpid, thinking more of myself than of what I owe to your Love - and I owe You everything. Forgive me for paying so little attention. Without compunction and deep sorrow, contemplation is likely to be nothing more than a kind of idolatry. How can I love You if I do not know who I am and who You are? And how can I know this without sorrow? Jesus, I no longer want to have anything to do with love that forgets that it was born in sorrow, and therefore forgets to be grateful. Otherwise I will only go on lying to You, and I want to be done with insincerity forever and forever.

more random thoughts on compassion

Maybe I should have made an addendum to my Lenten practice: I will write in my blog every day BEFORE 9PM. Then I wouldn't be staying up so late doing this. Of course, the way my schedule works, I'd never get to steal away long enough to get it done.

Thanks to Jay and Laurie for their responses to my last post via Facebook. We'd like to think this compassion thing would be easier than it is - and it seems quite simple from an intellectual standpoint. It's when we have to put those ideas into action in a real-life situation that life gets difficult.

Compassion = suffer together with. It's not simply an acknowledgement that someone else is suffering. It's a desire to enter into that suffering and help to alleviate it. It's easier with those we love - who hasn't watched a loved one suffering and wished you could take that suffering on yourself? Who hasn't wanted to be able to take away the pain, to exchange your own well-being so the one you love doesn't have to suffer? In fact, if you don't feel that way, I'm not sure you can honestly say you love someone. "Greater love has no man than this, then one lay down his life for his friends."

It's having compassion on those we don't know that becomes tricky. We see strangers suffer, like those in Haiti, and we wish and pray their suffering to go away. And yet, would we be willing to enter into their suffering, to suffer with them, or going even farther, to make their suffering our own? We'll send our money, maybe even give some of our time, but will we sacrifice our own well being for theirs? Most of us would answer no. We might sympathize, even empathize, but compassion goes beyond that.

Which brings the hardest call of compassion - to be compassionate to those we disagree with. Or even despise. How many of us are willing to enter into the suffering of those we call our enemies? The ones who have hurt us. The ones who have abandoned us. The ones whose beliefs run counter to our own. The ones who hate us as much as we hate them. So easy to see their suffering and believe they are getting what they deserve, that those are the consequences for their actions and they just have to live with them. We call it a tragedy when it happens to someone we love. We call it justice when it happens to our enemies.

The parable of The Good Samaritan comes to mind. As a Samaritan, the traveler was despised by the person he was helping. And he probably despised him as well. And yet, unlike the earlier travelers, he didn't see the suffering and move on. He stopped, bandaged his wounds, took him to an inn and paid for his lodging. He entered into the suffering of the one he did not know, did not love. Compassion is not a feeling, a sense of pity. It's a call to action, to put love into practice.

Much, much easier said than done, especially in the face of what we find abhorrent. Think of those you have a hard time loving, those you would consider the antithesis of all you hold dear. Those are the very people we are to have compassion for, the people, given the opportunity, we are to suffer with. Even if they brought that suffering upon themselves.

I know some would object and say that by doing so we condone their activities and behavior, give them our tacit acceptance. But compassion isn't about who is right and who is wrong. It doesn't judge before acting - it simply acts. The call is to enter into their suffering, not show them all their faults, help them become acceptable and then enter into their suffering. We don't show compassion so the person will change or so we'll feel all warm and fuzzy inside (though those things may happen). We show compassion because we know it is what Love demands of us and it is only Love that can help us to enter into another's suffering. Æ

insert witty title here

When I am most quiet and most myself, God's grace is clear, and then I see nothing else under the sun. What else is there for us but to be tranquil and at peace in the all-enchanting wonder of God's mercy to us? It falls upon this paper more quietly than the morning sun, and then I know that all things, without His love, are useless, and in His love, having nothing, I can possess all things. ~ Thomas Merton

I have nothing to add. Just some thoughts to ponder today.

My thoughts are languid tonight, slowly trickling down the uninteresting face of the day. This is the kind of day the Stage Manager from Our Town would encourage me to visit when I've left this world and wanted to return. An ordinary day of no significance. Why can I not see with eternity's eyes so I realize how amazing this most boring day actually is? Would it be too much for me to take in? Perhaps.

Honestly, I have nothing to share, nothing to talk about. The mundaneness of today is overwhelming. Rough waking up. Caffeine fix at Speedway. Uneventful silence on the way to work. Students took tests while I graded. I dropped off my tax stuff into the mail. Grabbed a late lunch. Caught up on the interwebs. Started laundry. Dozed off. More laundry. More web. Late dinner at Lemongrass. More laundry. Watched Anchorman. Laughed with Angie at In the Loop. And now I'm here, typing about the nothing I've done all day. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. What profit has a man from all his labor in which he toils under the sun?"

Obviously, we're not going to get much out of this half an hour.

They (whoever they are) say that sometimes the writing is enough - it doesn't matter what you write as long as you write. Fine and dandy if you're scribbling notes into a private journal, but I don't think it translates to this medium well. Because, let's be honest, you hope someone reads what you wrote. And you can't say it doesn't matter what you read as long as you read. Or can you? Why are you reading this? Is this making you a better reader somehow? The argument could be made that this isn't making me a better writer either. So there's that.

As I mentioned last night, the word I'm pondering for Lent is compassion. So of course it came up several times today - in discussions, in readings. I know, it's like when you're looking to buy a new car and suddenly you see the car everywhere you go. This isn't a bad thing, to become more aware of compassion in the world. Better, of course, to actually show compassion. But is there a line? Can compassion reach a point of diminishing returns? On one of my mailing lists they were discussing the whole Joe Stack incident, one side arguing they felt bad for the guy, the other said they did until he burned his house and flew his plane into a building. No one was saying what he did was acceptable or to be lauded. The question then, is, can we be compassionate toward someone, even when they do something we despise?

Maybe I'll spend some time later unpacking the etymology of compassion. Literally means "to suffer together." And how does it fit with the idea of passion? Lots of writing. Too bad I didn't think of this earlier. Much more interesting than what I typed earlier.

Hope: I, like many others, read the Esquire piece about Roger Ebert and they talked about how losing his voice has allowed him to experience a resurgence in his writing. It pointed out that when he first started blogging, there really wasn't much there. But now it's his primary mode of communication. Something for me to aspire to.

Night. Æ

Maproom

Spent the day setting up and participating in our monthly experiential worship called Maproom. Our theme this month was "A Lenten Hobo Honeymoon," focusing on Lent not as a time for sackcloth and ashes but as a time to fall in love with Jesus all over again. As I walked through the stations, I jotted down some thoughts. I'll try not to edit, but I may chicken out at some points. Some things I'm just not ready to share yet.

Walk through with me...

Hobo = HOmeward BOund. A pilgrim.

Station #1 What will you carry with you?

I wanted hope - God gave me compassion. My want came out of my personal need - God gave me what He wanted me to show to others. My heart turned inward, God wanted it turned outward. How can I show compassion to others? How can I let God show compassion to me?

Station #2 Prepare your heart for the journey

Is my heart a sponge, a rock, or dry sand? Can I answer all three? I want my heart to be a sponge, absorbing more of God. But it feels more like a rock, weighed down with the burdens of life and my own expectations of what life should be like. Lately I seem unable to absorb God - I am surrounded by Him, but nothing seems to seep in any more. Like a too full sponge. Perhaps I need to squeeze out some of God I have, share it with others so I can be filled again. Or maybe God, like He did with Pharaoh, has hardened my heart.

Father, transform this stone into a sponge once again. Help me to soak up more of you, more of this love and life you've given me, not so I can be full, but so I can share it with others.

Station #3 Praying for Haiti

I cannot imagine the devastation of their lives. So much loss. So much never to be repaired. I know of the tragedy, yet have done as much as I can to ignore it. I've donated money, given so others can help. But is that money spent so I don't have to think about it? Pray about it? I'm reminded of the Haitians I was blessed to work with back in high school youth group. They used to shout "Bene Swale Tarnell." (forgive my spelling) Praise the Lord. Such joy, even in the face of hardships having given up everything to come to our country. I pray, Father, you'll help those who have lost to find that joy, even in this tragedy.

Station #4 Lenten Tattoos

A reminder of the impermanence of this life. To dust we shall return. We are marked as God's to do with as He will. I do not fear death. But I do find I fear life. I was reminded this week that people with pets live longer lives and all I could think was, yet another reason not to have a pet. I've grown weary of searching for what this world can offer me. I need to look for what God is offering me.

Station #5 Fill a Bag

Paul speaks of learning the secret of being content in any and every situation. I wish he had taken the time to share that secret. Maybe it's this: only when we give away do we feel content. Only when we hold so lightly to this world can we find contentment in God.

Station #6 Honeymoon Adventure with Jesus

I like the idea of Lent being a time to fall in love with Jesus. I think it's the idea of a honeymoon that bothers me, mostly for selfish reasons, because I can't stop thinking what if this is the only honeymoon I ever have? I makes my heart hurt a bit to think about it.

What would it take for me to fall more in love with Jesus? More time with Him? More time remembering how He has blessed me? I feel like I need a second honeymoon more than a first. We're almost too familiar with one anohter, like a couple that's been together for so long they can finish one another's thoughts, anticipate on eanother's actions. How could I get away and remember what it was like to love the Lord my God with all my heart, mind, soul and strength?

Station #7 Stuff in Your Backpack

What's weighing me down on my journey? Fear. Lack of trust taht God is leading me somewhere worth going. Worry that I'll miss everything He wants for me to see because I'm too busy looking for what I want to see. It makes the journey much harder. Much less enjoyable. And yet I try to shoulder on through. The will never give me more than I can bear, right? But what about those bricks I put n my own backpack? What if I've given myself more than I can bear?

Station #8 The Mirror

This is the one station I truly dread. Before heading to the desert, Jesus heard the words, "This is my beloved. I am pleased with you. God wants to say the same to me. But I don't believe Him. I'm supposed to look in the mirror and say, "I am God's beloved. God loves Thurman. God is pleased with Thurman." But dare I do it if I don't believe it? The words don't come easy; neither does the belief. Won't I be lying if my heart isn't in it? My head may know, but my heart doesn't believe. This makes me feel ashamed, that I cannot trust this to be true.

Station #9 The Desert

I am no longer in the wilderness I was ten years ago. God brought me through that. But now I seem to be in a complacent place. I have no great battles in my life. I have no great temptations. My life stretches before me uninterrupted, unremarkable. What hope, then, remains for me?

Digging my toes into the sand I'm reminded of times of great joy, moments filled with hope for what lies ahead. The waves crashing on the shore, messengers from a time to come, telling me to hold on, everything is going to be all right. I need to dig my toes into the sand again. I need to listen for the hope washing up on my shore.

Station #10 Praying for Hobos

I offered up a prayer for those lost in loneliness, who feel disconnected from those around them. I am constantly reminded of Coupland's words, who said loneliness is the one thing we don't talk about. To confess to it is admitting a fault deep within oneself. People will avert their eyes from you lest they too catch this loneliness. May those who are lonely find eyes that meet theirs, that help them connect to a world that seems to ignore them. Give them love. The love they seek. The love they need.

Æ

waiting was a bad idea

See, this is what procrastination gets you, young people. 12:30AM and I'm just now starting my 30 minutes of blog writing, which means no sleep until after 1:00AM and a greater chance of saying something incredibly stupid that I'll have to either take back or explain tomorrow.

Anyway...

Day started with watching Caprica and Spartacus: Blood and Sand. I really like Caprica - I think the way they're "humanizing" the Cylons is intriguing. Not at BSG level quite yet, but it's well done so far. Spartacus...well, we'll call it a guilty pleasure and leave it at that.

The only thing on my agenda today (if I kept such a thing) before Beyond Therapy was going out and buying some new jeans. The crotch has begun to fray on the pair I wear the most and while it's subtle now, it will pick the most inopportune time to explode into a full blown hole and I'd prefer to not have that happen. I toyed with breaking my ban on Old Navy because they were having a good sale on their jeans, but after talking with a friend, I decided to head to Kohl's and invest in some Levis, hoping they would last longer. The shopping itself was less painful than I anticipated - didn't take long and I even found a couple of shirts. But the getting there and getting back was out of my own personal hell. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate the traffic in suburban sprawl? Bleah.

Speaking of my own personal hell, I've gave some more thought to the article I posted last night and talked to a good friend about it all and realized that the dating scene they described is not designed for me. It's designed for douche bags and the women that love them to find one another. I mean honestly, that's not where I would find the kind of girl I'm interested in. But my friend then asked, so where is the beta dating scene? Bookstores? Coffee shops? Museums? And they're not really scenes - though perhaps if I started to think of them that way, I might discover more opportunities...Anyway, I'm not nearly as sad as I was upon first reading it (and let's be honest, I am the king of hyperbole and most everything I say should be taken with a grain of salt).

My friend also brought up an interesting point: these men (and women) that go out simply to hook up for sex are looked at as normal. However, when someone who is married does the same thing (Tiger Woods), they are seen as a sex addict. Double standard much?

I think I'm a little in love with Elizabeth Bennet. No, not the one from Jane Austen (though I could definitely be in love with her too). I mean the one from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Finally getting around to reading it. Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Fits into my enjoyment of all things mashed up. Not sure why it's been languishing so long on my shelf. Will probably finish it before the other book I'm currently reading: Blood's a Rover by James Ellroy. That one's taking a little longer to get through. Not because it's bad, but because it's a completely different style of reading.

First weekend of Beyond Therapy is over. Now comes the fun - playing a different role for the second weekend. First time I've ever done that. I've got some big shoes to fill - Dave does a great job in the role of Bob. Ted's done a good job of allowing us each to develop the character our own way - hopefully that won't throw of the rest of the cast members. Guess we'll find out on Thursday when we run the show with me as Bob. Little scary, I have to admit.

OK, I haven't written a whole lot here in 30 minutes. Fingers and brain moving a bit slow for obvious reasons. At least I get to sleep in tomorrow. Heading over to Taza to set up for Maproom tomorrow night at noon. It's focusing on falling in love with Jesus over Lent. Looking forward to spending some time listening tomorrow. Definitely could use it.

Though it's Sunday tomorrow and I'm not technically required to write according to Lenten tradition, I'll probably stop by anyway, if only to distract myself from the piles of grading waiting for me in my backpack. Until then.

Æ