Good Friday? Honestly, is there any other kind?
Today, however, is a day off of work, so I’m thinking it should be called One of the Best Fridays.
I appreciated a joke I heard the other day about Good Friday -
Considering what happened to him on Good Friday, shouldn’t Jesus be a bit perturbed that the worst day of his life will be celebrated in perpetuity as “Good” Friday.
Obviously, though I work in a Catholic institution, I am speaking somewhat insensitively, but, hey, who there is sensitive to (or even aware or would be non-condemning of) my (we won’t discuss them at this moment) religious beliefs?
Don’t mean to insult or offend anyone, but I’m not going to apologize for having different ideas about the god situation.
I’m for everyone just leaving everyone else alone -
no ridiculing, no proselytizing, no persecuting, no murdering in the name of whatever paranoid deity tells you to do so.
Everyone should just be quietly smug in the belief that he and his, and only he and his, are enlightened and going to reap the reward in the afterlife.
I act in accordance to this belief, out of equal parts courtesy and pragmatism. It’s just impolite to criticize someone’s religion, especially to their faces. Also, no matter how incredibly offended I am by the school organizing boys to go as a supervised group to protest in front of women’s clinics, stating that fact would only get me invited to leave the activity that pays the mortgage. I may have (questionable) principles, but I ain’t that stupid. Besides, having been raised for the first few years as a catholic, I still retain enough internally implanted guilt for several lifetimes.
(My internal censor/nun wielding a wicked psychic ruler is screaming right now.
“How dare you criticize the Church? How dare you make light of Jesus and Good Friday? How dare you not capitalize Catholic and God? God!
You’re going to Hell, to Hell, to Hell… whether you believe in it or not!”
Her face is always that of long dead Sister Mary Celestine,
who was at least a hundred and seven years old when I wore a kindergarten’s uniform pinafore and she wore a full floor-length black habit in the Louisiana heat,
holding the red wooden ruler that I must have deserved for whatever sin it was I committed that time.)
(Damn, that stuff gets deep and never works its way out.)
So what to do with this beautiful, sunny, only slightly chilly day off?
After a bit more (never to end, never to be even close to completed) housework,
I’m going to don my comfy clothes and comfy shoes,
put on sunblock and a hat,
and hop on my Trikke
(a wiggle powered scooter that makes a perfect self-torture device for a sedentary semi-broken chubby middle aged woman)
to journey the mile and a half to work
and put in four to eight hours of the sixteen to twenty hours
I need to do to get in the neighborhood of caught up at work.
It’s the kind of stupidity I’ve been having to do every week-end for the last few months.
I’ll take my tablet and watch/mostly listen to television while I work data into the computer that I didn’t have time to record yesterday and earlier this week.
Oh well, time to go put on a load of laundry.
I have to remember to whistle for the chaos catlets.
They love to watch laundry-vision through the round window on the front of my washer.
Rinse cycle is their favourite.
It’s got a nice beat and their eyes dance to it.
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