Dangerous Compassions


I decided what I’m making for community meal tomorrow.

roasted delicata squash

green salad

pot of beans

one-pot pasta: roasted red pepper

Should be great.  We are supposed to get our minivan back this afternoon, so I will be able to go to the store.

Yesterday’s theology class was fantastic.  But the reading was some accounts of religious highs and lows and plateaus–I was thinking, wow, these people have no idea.  I guess as someone diagnosed bipolar who has lived through some extremes, I’m an expert.

Lots of our tiles in the kitchen are cracked.  A lot were cracked and got fixed, maybe a year ago, while we were away on a trip.  Originally the floor was tan, but the handyperson replaced the broken tiles with blue.  Blue tiles were freely available.

So our floor is weird.  And lots more tiles cracked.  Not sure why.

Well, the delicious chai Ming made me, I drank it all, so I guess it’s time to make breakfast.

For a very small period of time, I worked at a bookstore in Bishop.  They never told me how much they were paying me, and when I found out, I quit.  Oops.

But I had access to a lot of books, and I read a lot back then.  Publishers would send those unedited proofs?  And you couldn’t sell them.  We could take home what we wanted.  Paper bags in a back room were overflowing with books.

I read this book, maybe the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read.  It’s about these girls who steal a baby off someone’s front porch and what happens then.  It’s chilling.  I think about it often.  It’s really masterful but not the sort of thing I should put myself through. 

It was a thick book and I remember asking myself if I should keep going, when it was really disgusting.  Almost stopped plenty of times, but something sick in me pushed through.

This morning on goodreads I was reading reviews of a different thriller that many of my goodreads friends have read.  Something in me is drawn to the gruesome.  But I don’t think that’s really my lesson this lifetime.

Like school shooters–there was a book on Columbine, and I read reviews of it, but I never went so far as to request the book from the library.  It isn’t good for me.

I always said I didn’t like horror movies because I’d seen enough horror in my life.  But some people find it cathartic.

Well, I should make breakfast.  Have a good day, everybody.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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