I was in the midst of an existential crisis, so I went to see the priest* who assessed that my "problem is that [I] have no problem."
Walking out of the office, pleased, I called Matt to tell him. As if I were somehow freed.
And now I am insulted.
Indignant.
Impertinent and other "I" words.
Can't untouchable spiritual discomfort be a problem?
Days like today, though, you feel guilty for being sad. Sun came at just the right time. Like Reese Witherspoon holding a bowl of raspberries as you're Joaquin Phoenix coming out of serious detox.
Rising from the...ok. Too much.
I'm sure God loves similies like that. God, you really shone down on me today like a character from Walk The Line, and I appreciate it.
*I fought the compulsion to call him the "village priest" (because the whole experience sounds very down-home and yet, exorcising) but it would be inaccurate. We live in a city.
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