The Hard Part

Melodrama warning.

Everything worth anything has a hard part to it. A difficult component, something that must be overcome. I'm, unfortunately, hitting a lot of things at the hard part right now. In descending order of importance...

The most important one, as it's the one with the most far-reaching and grave implications, is my religion. Being a Traditional Catholic is...well, it's hard. People around you, unless they're also traditional Catholics, really don't understand it. It's so very counter-cultural, and by that I don't mean prepackaged ripped fishnets and safety pin earrings. I mean it is directly opposed to the culture in which I'm living, the culture of modern America. I really can't find solace amid most modern Catholics, either. Frankly I might as well appliqué a large, scarlet SSPX on all my blouses now and save the trouble of  what usually happens.

Traditional Catholicism is a bloodless war, fought constantly, waking and sleeping. It's not something you can really do halfway. You must believe in it, and believe in it with all you are. Otherwise, it's not going to be worth it to go through what you will go through. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

There's also another thing that I really can't talk about. Not here, anyway. It's sort of a pervasive thing that hangs over a lot of what I do, and it...well, it stinks. I can't go into detail, which is frustrating. I feel a little like Odette in the Swan Princess; the worst part of my plight is I can't speak about it.

And on a related note, my pride is...well, it's pretty much limping along. The only reason I can really tell that I have any left is because it's hurting. But I've had plenty of it chipped away lately, from several different directions but one in particular. I'm starting to feel a little like a yo-yo or a court jester or something.

Also, I'm at a point in the outlining stage of my novel where I'm running a little dry. I know I need to set it aside and brainstorm for a few days, but I have two more days of formatting before I can do that. At this point I'm just chugging in through, making notes on top of each other and layering. It's magnificent to watch it all come together slowly, but it's also tedious. I have the most fickle, demanding, mercurial muse in the history of difficult muses.

And then of course I have finals next week, which seem to be most of my friends' chief concern. I myself have always been really good in a testing environment. That and the sheer amount of other stuff I have going on make finals seem a little less do-or-die than they have in the past.

And with a deep breath I offer them all up. My Nanny turned me on to the idea of having a "God Jar," where you place on paper the things that you wish to offer up, things that are bothering you and things that are filling you with worry. Beyond prayer, the physical act of placing my worry, on paper, in the jar (I use a teapot) is really good at reminding me that I did in fact place this in God's hands and He is in control of the situation. When it gets full, you're supposed to empty it out and burn the papers. I actually kind of like to look through them and see what worries have worked out alright.

So I've got quite a few strips of paper for my teapot tonight...