Thursday, Sept. 29, 2005 - 5:43 a.m.

I don't know if it's the anti-itch pills or what, but I've woken up way earlier than necessary the past two days. Yesterday it was 6-- today it was 5:15. Wide awake.

I made a batch of cookies to bring to my classes because it's my birthday and I'm handing back exams, but the cookies were the worst cookies I ever made. Flat and gresy. I'm disappointed. I guess I have time to make another batch, seein as it's only a quarter to six and all, but I'm peeved and so won't. Maybe.

I forgot to mention that we got tricked into going to church with my relatives. They're all real religious (though not super pushy about it anymore, I'll give them that), and had already been to church that morning, and mentioned that my cousin was going to be playing at a "praise concert" at the park. Since my mom and aunts wanted to hear him play, we agreed to go, thinking that at worst it would be gospel music or something. No. It was mostly a service, including a sermon and a plate-passing. And most of the songs were of the bland white-perrson-church type, to boot. Unfair! The sermon was about compassion, urging us to give to hurricane relief. I don't mean to be all whatever, but I already done gave and didn't need no damn preacher to talk me into it. A big fat raspberry to those who have to be persuaded by the Bible into doing what is obviously good. Things that are less obvious or counterintuitive, fine, but helping disaster victims? A no-brainer.

Oh, and plus, the guy included the story about the prodigal son, which if I had to pick one story my mom didn't need to hear right now, it would be that one. Welcoming home the wastrel once is all well and good, but they don't continue with the story as it happens in real life: the son steals stuff from his welcoming father and sneaks out halfway through the welcome home feast to go pawn it and his new coat and get drunk and gambled and shove @0s down the g-strings of strippers. How many times can a prodigal son be welcomed back before you have to kick his ass out? I realize this parable is mostly used as a story for welcoming the sinner back into the church, not necessarily as a model for parent- troubled child relations, but I think it's fucking dysfunctional either way, and I didn't need my mom having anyone else encouraging her to be even more spineless in the name of being a Good Christian.

*whew*

Oh, and the relatives bought a bunch of my jewelry. That was swell. But then I checked at the Perambulating Chelonian last night and nothing has sold since August. Poo. Not a good time for buying frivolities just now, I suppose. I should remember this when I get to fantasizing about doing it full time. $3/gallon gas = no damn money for jewelry.

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