It’s the weekend for a few more minutes. For me, my sabbath begins on Friday and ends on Saturday. I work on Sundays, but I am determined to have a day the Pharisees would have been proud of. No work. Now how. Not me.
I’m about to
confess make up something. There is a very real and slight and not at all likely chance that I took two naps yesterday.
FINE! What do I have to say for myself? Nothing. Except that I also went to bed at ten. Are we far enough into our relationships for confessions? Good because here comes another one. I took two naps and went to bed at ten after drinking two cups of coffee and a cherry coke.
(Is the cricket chirping bothering anyone else?) Please don’t look at me like that. I have road rage and caffeine addictions, and I have retirement goals to swear like a sailor. Whew. I feel better.
OK. One more confession. Because it’s almost Sunday and there is an entire group of Protestants who feel like confessing to others makes the world a happier place.
I stopped at the movie theater on my way to the grocery store.
I did it. No one was the wiser.
I volunteered as tribute, and I loved it.
Hey, I do feel better. Looky there.