well. i may not have a gag reflex, but when my stomach decides that things are living in it without it’s consent, POOF, there those things go. porcelain throne and all.
funny. i think it was the chick-fil-a. never mind the fact that my parents are fine! they ate bloody chinese food. they’re supposed to be the sick folks. ugghhhhewww.
ithinksheismadatmeandithinkit’sbecauseheandiarecloseagainandfuckfuckFUCK.
an agnostic, i do not celebrate easter.
however. i am an agnostic in a christian household. a very christian household.
and as an agnostic teenager in a christian household, i and my friends are the only ones to know that i do not believe in the christian god… actually, that’s a lie. almost everybody i know who has spared more than a few moments to get to know me knows that i’m agnostic. (or atheist, i’ve never actually broached the subject with some people.) my sergeant knows- my stepdad knows- everybody, it seems, except my family.
which makes pretending to celebrate easter an absolute pain in the ass. i mean, it’s nice to know my family believes, and i absolutely love the fact that my brother is christian. i’m cool with christianity, it’s just not for me.
then again, with people like brandon and mr. wag talking to me in their gentle way, it’s not so hard to consider going to church again. as i told brandon today, i have moral issues against the christian god.
you heard it right. conflict of morals. i don’t believe in god simply because not everybody is offered the same opportunity to believe in god as i was. the idea that EVERYBODY has a single chance at knowing god might be true. but if they’ve been raised, say, as an animist- or anything else not ‘right’, then they’re screwed. you can’t change a lifetime of learning with one sermon. and people that are predisposed to not believe should not be condemned to hell. according to the bible as it’s been presented to me, they are.
so i’m an agnostic pretending to be christian, and smiling at the prayers and subtly trying to avoid going to church, and its wearing on me. but i can’t confess, because then very earthly punishments would meet me. i want to retain my freedom, so if pretending to believe in christ keeps me from being forced to church and salvation, then that’s what i’ll do.
and in the meantime, i’ll nibble my chocolate cross and wonder who in their right mind would create something that seems sacrilegious even to my heathen self.
lOvelOvelOvelOve.
i recieved the most lovely letter today from the most lovely person. once upon a time. it made me cry, but they were good tears. then said lovely person said something that made me cry, and they were very good tears.
i want life to stay.
sometimes, i’m absolutely sure that i’m a liar and i do support the death penalty and don’t beileve there’s redemption in everyone and don’t have a quiet temper. those times are typically involving my grandmother, when she’s screaming at me and cursing me then asking god’s forgiveness for her use of his name in vain- then she goes and screams at me some more, so in a snarky voice i tell her that god disdains more things than her saying god damn.
that’s when she slaps me and i think; if she does it again i’ll catch her hand. but i’m never able to, because even though i know her, i don’t expect it still. and so i simply say again, snarky voice; “things like that, too.”
which earns another.
i hate her, sometimes, i really do. even though i tell olivia i don’t hate. i told axel and rachel that yesterday morning. smart-ass axel said no, i don’t hate her.
i guess he’s right. i can’t hate her, i can only be angry with the bitch. i dislike her intensely, as rachel said.
fucking axel. why does he have to be right?
fucking grandma. why does she have to be crazy.
there’s significantly more venom directed toward grandma than axel.
speaking of whom; he’s healthy, and smiling again, and almost normal. i’m so glad. i think i can finally cry my worry out, now that it’s over. man… i’ve been a shitty, inattentive friend.
i am no longer able to feel bad about the terrible day i had. competition was… nasty, but not too terrible. but when i got home, i got yelled at.
this would have been a post about how hateful my grandma is. i suppose what happened in rwanda doesn’t change that she is irrational, loud, cruel, and menopausal. however, i am far more fortunate than the tutsi (or even the hutu, back in the belgian-supported tutsi reign). therefore, it is much more reasonable to cry over the movie hotel rwanda, and then cry some more because nobody fixes it, than it is to cry over my day.
indeed, watching painful, horrid movies is a spectacular way to get a bit of perspective.
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