Our Lord, my year, and man I'm a good writer.

I had a funny little moment last night. I was, um, well, I was googling things...yes, yes, my own name, etc...anyway, I googled "infidelia" just to see what came up, a few things. One of the things that came up was a comment posted on a blog I recognized, so I looked at it. The comment was so well written that I didn't believe it was me who had written it and actually went as far as to click the link of the person who had written it, named infidelia and even that didn't make me believe, and indeed it took me to my own blog. I went back and read it over, there were two comments I had posted, actually, and still, had no memory of writing them, but the signatures were mine, for sure. So odd, for me to come across a little bit of my own writing and to be impressed by it. It spurs me on.

I'm going out now to sell some electronics, and maybe my bike, and some books, and see where that gets me. My relationship to material goods has become one of finding them burdensome.

I have begun the conversation with my family about a present free Christmas early this year, I hope it takes. We can ramp it up again one day when my brother or I have children, but hopefully not even then. Now birthdays, that's a whole different ballgame. I like to give on birthdays, but Jesus isn't even around, and what would he want anyway? An X-box? A Hudson's Bay blanket? A handmade sweater one arm longer than the other? I think not. Just the company of loved ones. And you know, if it's good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me.



Anonymous said...

Look, you are making me sound a little soft. I can't lose my edge, can I? If I don't keep up the brutally honest front you will take for granted my support and compliments. So here goes: let other people pat you on the back- stop doing it yourself. It sounds disingenuous, forced. Keep doing good instead of talking about how good you did. If you did good, it speaks loudly enough for itself, you don't need to talk it up.

Hugs and kisses,

Infidelia said...

oh, you.