So my mom made us all go to church this morning, despite my quiet protests (if I protest too loudly she gets bitchy and pouty and won't talk nice at all for the rest of the day, and then my brothers will call me pagan or blasphemer or something else they've picked up).

It *sucked*.

I felt so terrible, standing up and sitting down and crossing myself obediantly.

I mean, I know the motions. And I did them all right. I didn't do the intonations, nor the prayers, and just kind of mumbled to make it look like I was saying something.

I noticed my dad was doing the same thing.

The whole thing made me feel really uncomfortable.

It could have been that all five of us don't fit comfortably in a pew anymore, and we were pretty damned crammed in there.

Could have been because my mom made me keep my heavy winter coat on because she thought my shirt needed ironing. (She's also the one that thinks my socks are smelly when I put them on clean only several hours before.)

Could have been because I almost fell asleep, and so started counting pages in the numbered prayer book, and ended up getting an elbow in the ribs from my older brother.

Could have been because my ex boyfriend, Nick, was in the choir and had a clear view of me from where he was sitting.

Could have been because he was murmuring sweet nothings with Melissa (not the nice one, or the SCAdian from Red Deer, but the annoying one), the girl I like least in the whole of town.

Could have been that.

Who knows.

Could have been the fact that I'm not particularely religious, and certainly not Roman Catholic, and so being forced to participate in something I don't choose to believe in is not a comfortable situation.

Could have been because one fleeting thought kept flickering through my head:

"The is fucking absurd."

Who knows.

Will we ever know?

.

Rosie.

PS, The bishop, who was doing the service, sat at the very front, up on this big carved throne thing, and he had spotlights on him. SPOTLIGHTS! Like we don't know already that he's the fucking bishop, alright? He's got the pointy hat, and the robes, and the curved stick, and the huge fucking amethyst inlaid silver cross around his neck (and the cute little pink cap with the nobbly bit on the top), but he certainly didn't need a fucking spotlight. (Actually, there were three spotlights, but I won't get into it.)

PPS, They changed the cross the assisstant kid in the maroon robes carried. It used to be a beautiful old carved wooden Jesus on a tall cross. Now it's some gold thingamajig. The Jesus looks the same, but the cross is really flashy and tacky.

PPPS, In case I didn't mention before, I'm not Roman Catholic, although I was raised Roman Catholic.

PPPPS, And in case I forgot to mention, I prefer modest religion. If you're going to preach The Word, or what ever it is you want to teach, do it in a humble way, a modest way, not with a giant semi-precious genmstone inlaid cross, a throne, and spotlights. That's unnecessary.

Before&After