Miserable. This town, this weather, these people, everything. And I can't do anything about it.
It hasn't stopped raining in three days, and habits do not dry quickly. The soup kitchen smells like wet dog, and the homeless have resorted to sleeping here. It's not in my nature to deny someone a dry place to sleep, but this will simply not work for much longer. Who wants to eat in a place that smells like someone up and died in the corner? If this goes on for much longer, I'm going to vomit. And that simply is not sanitary.
On top of the rain, the last few days have shown me things that no one should ever have to see. On my way home from work, I heard a horrible crash just down the block. I arrived to see a young athlete spread along the pavement like a pancake that wasn't completely cooked. It took all I had not to break down right there. All I could do was try to console other onlookers and assure them that God had a good reason for this. I stayed there until the scene was cleaned up, doing my best to help. I couldn't help but notice Corbie MacIntyre sitting alone, watching the cleanup and talking to a bird. Tragedy can drive us all crazy sometimes. I thought about going up to her to offer my prayers, but it seemed like the bird was the only one who could help.
As if that weren't enough, I heard some talk of a severed head floating up out of a flooded manhole last night. Could things get any worse? Not only is a man hit by a bus, but another man is horrendously murdered and decapitated? I keep trying to tell myself that this is all part of God's plan, but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to convince myself this time. If God has a reason for this, it better be a damn good one. I didn't sign up for this.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
If angels play harps, who plays sousaphones?
It's been almost a week in this little town, and it's starting to grow on me. Well, something's starting to grow on me . It could be a fungus. Should I worry if my robe is beginning to grow green fuzz? It's kinda pretty. Fungi aside, this town is alright. People are a little odd here, but I haven't seen anything too over the top. Actually, I think the townspeople see me as the weirdo. They keep staring at me. It could be the habit (the standard issue nun robe), or it could be the fact that I've been hurrying around town, passing out pamphlets about the Lord. But that's part of my job. I didn't just come here for my own new beginning, I came for the beginnings of everyone here. It's never too late to trade in your stripper pole for a Bible. But sooner is probably better for some of these heathens.
Anyways, I've gotten into a routine after six days here. I wake up at promptly 5:45am, do my meditation and prayer until 6:30, have a nice breakfast of eggs and tea, and make my way to the soup kitchen. I usually head home around 8 or 9pm, depending on how many hungry mouths I need to feed. Ok, I shouldn't lie. I wish I woke up at 5:45am. The Lord is just going to have to forgive me for waking up around 6:15 or 7. Nuns need their beauty sleep too. How am I to be a cheery soup-provider if I'm running on empty? Nevermind that. The point is that I have a routine. And it hasn't been disturbed. Until today.
I headed home a little early today. Apparently, nobody was hungry. Maybe they were all having a party and didn't invite me (which wouldn't bode well for them in Heaven. Everyone knows that nuns can party with the rest of 'em). Anyways, I was about to go into Watershed Heights when I heard the faint sound of a tuba in the distance. Sousaphone, I guess you'd call it. I wandered around in search of the sound, when I saw a woman playing the giant instrument, her case set out next to her in hopes to collect a few dimes. Poor woman! That's no way to make a living. She'll throw her back out before she sees her first dollar! I sat and listened to her for a while, and she waved at me as though she wanted money. I didn't have any. Habits don't have pockets (which is unfortunate, because that defeats the purpose of the pocket Bible I got when I left the Abbey). Perhaps I'll come back tomorrow with a few dollars for her. That'd just make her day, wouldn't it?
On another note, this soup kitchen gig is going pretty well for the most part. This town is never short of hungry people, so I'm always busy. I'm going to need to come up with some new soup recipes. Tomato is probably getting old. I'll make a survey for my soup-eaters tomorrow. I really enjoy being able to feed these people. It makes me feel trusted. I mean, I could put anything in my soup, and these people would still eat it! I could slowly poison half of this town, and nobody would know until it was too late. Not that I would, of course. The Lord has had his share of mass murders (Noah wasn't the only one on Earth when he caused that flood, y'know. And those plagues didn't go away without claiming a few hundred victims either), but I was sent here to teach the word of God and feed the homeless, not destroy a city.
Well, it's about time for bed. I'm going to do my best to wake up on time tomorrow. This town needs work, and the Lord sent me to get the job done. Who knows? Maybe people won't look at me so funny once they get a taste of my soup. Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant real soup. Heathens.
Anyways, I've gotten into a routine after six days here. I wake up at promptly 5:45am, do my meditation and prayer until 6:30, have a nice breakfast of eggs and tea, and make my way to the soup kitchen. I usually head home around 8 or 9pm, depending on how many hungry mouths I need to feed. Ok, I shouldn't lie. I wish I woke up at 5:45am. The Lord is just going to have to forgive me for waking up around 6:15 or 7. Nuns need their beauty sleep too. How am I to be a cheery soup-provider if I'm running on empty? Nevermind that. The point is that I have a routine. And it hasn't been disturbed. Until today.
I headed home a little early today. Apparently, nobody was hungry. Maybe they were all having a party and didn't invite me (which wouldn't bode well for them in Heaven. Everyone knows that nuns can party with the rest of 'em). Anyways, I was about to go into Watershed Heights when I heard the faint sound of a tuba in the distance. Sousaphone, I guess you'd call it. I wandered around in search of the sound, when I saw a woman playing the giant instrument, her case set out next to her in hopes to collect a few dimes. Poor woman! That's no way to make a living. She'll throw her back out before she sees her first dollar! I sat and listened to her for a while, and she waved at me as though she wanted money. I didn't have any. Habits don't have pockets (which is unfortunate, because that defeats the purpose of the pocket Bible I got when I left the Abbey). Perhaps I'll come back tomorrow with a few dollars for her. That'd just make her day, wouldn't it?
On another note, this soup kitchen gig is going pretty well for the most part. This town is never short of hungry people, so I'm always busy. I'm going to need to come up with some new soup recipes. Tomato is probably getting old. I'll make a survey for my soup-eaters tomorrow. I really enjoy being able to feed these people. It makes me feel trusted. I mean, I could put anything in my soup, and these people would still eat it! I could slowly poison half of this town, and nobody would know until it was too late. Not that I would, of course. The Lord has had his share of mass murders (Noah wasn't the only one on Earth when he caused that flood, y'know. And those plagues didn't go away without claiming a few hundred victims either), but I was sent here to teach the word of God and feed the homeless, not destroy a city.
Well, it's about time for bed. I'm going to do my best to wake up on time tomorrow. This town needs work, and the Lord sent me to get the job done. Who knows? Maybe people won't look at me so funny once they get a taste of my soup. Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant real soup. Heathens.
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