Yesterday I was going to put up something about how life was generally going better than a year ago, a day when I was so emotionally drained that the sum total of my thoughts regarding my grandfather’s funeral was “hey, that soldier guy was pretty hot and who can buy me another drink?”
Shining moment of emotional fortitude.
But by the time I got home and realized that I had to be awake in a very small number of hours, like, three, that…didn’t happen.
That same commitment to excellence carried on this morning when I spent the whole hour before opening sitting on the ground in the religion section looking at books because THREE HOURS DID YOU HEAR ME???
(Also, I kind of enjoy getting my theology on while being vaguely unethical by, you know, not working so hard. I enjoy being a walking contradiction.)
Religion is probably my favorite section at work, if only because they refuse to let me place all the Alan Rickman DVDs on one shelf. No, seriously. Because it allows me to be moved, enlightened, made to feel guilty, and be judgemental- ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!! Like my internal monologue this morning-
“Ooh, is it possible to love Benedict XVI more because the picture on the cover of his book about St. Paul is a Caravaggio? I mean, I’m sure he didn’t pick that out, but still…I love Caravaggio. And St. Paul! I should buy this book! What better use of my discount…okay. That’s right. I’m poor.”
“Am I the only person who gets massively confused when faced with the Summa Theologiae? Please tell me no and that I’ll still get through graduate school.”
“I really hate Bart Erhman. And Kerry Kennedy. And who keeps buying Andrew Greeley more printer ink? That man needs to be cut off. I am sick of his treatises on why he should be allowed to have sex.”
Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to say any of those things to actual customers. Pssh. Whatever.