Conversation on the phone today with my devoutly Catholic mom.
Mom: Did you get my e-mail?
Me: Yeah, I did.
(the email was reminding me about mass today and tomorrow and an inquiry if I would like to go with her. She even lured me with buying me dinner afterward, because she’s tricky like that).
Mom: Are you coming to Holy Thursday with me tonight? It starts at 6.
Me (hesitantly): I don’t think so.
Mom: Well, what else are you doing?
Me: I’m going over to Alex’s tonight to watch Thursday night comedies.
Mom: Doesn’t that start until later? You know this is the most important time of the year. Beth is going with me, and she has plans afterward.
Me: I’m sorry…
Mom: Don’t you care about your soul…
For those of you reading this who aren’t familiar with Catholicism, this week is the most important and solemn Triduum comprised of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Sorry Mom, the only Easter related event I attended today was an office egg hunt at work — an event that further convinces me even more that where I work is pretty much the world of The Office — and egg hunts have much more overt paganism associated with them than anything else, to me anyway. It’s conversations like these that gather this huge ball of shame and regret right in my chest, manifesting in that ever ubiquitous guilt trouncing my psyche and existence, and then spills over to every aspect in my life, whether it be getting ice from an ice maker, pouring a little extra Bourbon in my glass at Alex’s tonight, or getting pissed at that pick-up truck that cut me off today. And that’s why Christianity — specifically Catholicism — is a blast.