Mum?
April 3rd 2008 11:01
Dear Mum,
Stuff, working like real men work, leaves so little time to anything else other than revolve your whole life around work.
In the depths of my soul, I see Christ. God made man. Working for a living as a humble carpenter. Trying to show us the way to happiness.
Why won't I convert? Why does a good root outweigh an eternity of happiness?
Why did I marry a girl when I needed a woman?
These things torture me.
I lost interest in human beings the day my wife walked out on me. I did everything for her. No-one will ever love her like I loved her. My capacity for love is immense. But women are fussy bitches nowadays. They want money and independence and their pride. "All the modern women said they would not be dictated to. Then, all went out and got jobs as stenographers." - Edward Healey Thompson.
God has condemned me to a life of penance. (Make that mental torture). I will suffer everything God dishes up to me. If he wants me to get up at 4am every morning and slave my guts out as a working man? I'll do it. For one reason. St Thomas Aquinas teaches that one act of charity merits eternity. To do one act for the pure and simple reason of loving God, merits eternity.
I'm so pissed off about my life. So many wasted years. Every moment of my life I have not lived for God was wasted.
It took me 48 years to realise that a man has to work hard in this life. The sad thing is? Now that I do that? I have no-one to come home to at night. I just work from 6am until 6pm every day, and just come home to nothing. At least in monastic life, I could always go and speak to Our Lord.
I sit here at night and just say to myself, "David. No matter what happens, just get up each morning at 4am and go to work. And do your job to the best of your ability. [and God knows how much ability He graced and talented me with]. The funny thing is. I revel in dumbing down and doing a dumb job. In Imitation of Christ. He could have done anything, but chose the humble working life to teach dumb fucks like me a lesson?
I'll say to myself every night, "Drink as much piss as you like at night, but get a worth ethic you lazy bastard." I looke back on my life and just go, "David, you have lived a complete life of sloth." I'm still a slothful bastard when I come home at night, but I'll never not go to work. Work is the best therapy for a man.
Within a year, I will be a completely different person. So enjoy the rant and rave. Within a year, I will clam up, and only speak to God. They were the happiest years of my life. My soul was in a state of grace, and the Holy Ghost came into my soul. It was swept and garnished and clean. I used to lean on the bosom of Mary. She would wrap me up in her holiness.
God is merciful and patient. All He wants me to do at the moment is make a firm commitment to working hard for a living (with my hands), and leave the rest up to Him. And sinner that I am, I have made a firm commitment to God, that no matter what happens, I will never not go to work. Jacta cura tuam super Dominim et te enutriet te? (Cast your care upon the Lord and He will sustain you). Thank God I still have my memory, and still love the Psalms (even though I mainly think about naked women and how I'd like to go muff-diving?). I sometimes wonder if there's something seriously wrong with me. Then I dismiss that thought, and just go, "Erraverant ab utero. Non est usque ad unum." (They have all gone astray from the womb. There is not one that does good. Not one.").
I've tried to convince myself that payday makes it all worthwhile, but payday is just a slip of paper that says I earnt $2000 clear for the fortnight. And I have no-one to spend my money on. Hookers want $200 for an hour's sex. Wives want your blood? (Stuff, I just amused myself when I was in a dark, black mood?).
Mum, I am insane.
I think it's good that women are scared of me. I would only pound them anyway and make them realise they need a man in their life, not a metrosexual?
What about spiritual accountancy? I'd rather come home on payday and look over my payslip and just say, "Lord, I did this work for you. I'm working in Imitation of Christ, Who said, 'I am the way'." Lord, (excuse me mum while I pray to our God. I went all spiritual on myself. Stuff, God and the saints and angels must get so much amusement out of me being created).
Lord?
"This is God speaking, David. Not everyone who says Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of heaven. But he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven."
"Yep. Okay. Can I have a bit more time to indulge, though?"
"Have I not been merciful to you?"
"I can't argue with that."
I think I'll buy a woman I know a pink pen. As a thanksgiving present. She knows who she is. Another time, another place? ... Nup. It wasn't meant to be.
This is what blogging should be about.
Reality, honesty. "LIttle children, love one another."
Yep, mum, I'm insane. And loving it.
"Winners are grinners, and losers have their own blogs?"
Mum?
Stuff, working like real men work, leaves so little time to anything else other than revolve your whole life around work.
In the depths of my soul, I see Christ. God made man. Working for a living as a humble carpenter. Trying to show us the way to happiness.
Why won't I convert? Why does a good root outweigh an eternity of happiness?
Why did I marry a girl when I needed a woman?
These things torture me.
I lost interest in human beings the day my wife walked out on me. I did everything for her. No-one will ever love her like I loved her. My capacity for love is immense. But women are fussy bitches nowadays. They want money and independence and their pride. "All the modern women said they would not be dictated to. Then, all went out and got jobs as stenographers." - Edward Healey Thompson.
God has condemned me to a life of penance. (Make that mental torture). I will suffer everything God dishes up to me. If he wants me to get up at 4am every morning and slave my guts out as a working man? I'll do it. For one reason. St Thomas Aquinas teaches that one act of charity merits eternity. To do one act for the pure and simple reason of loving God, merits eternity.
I'm so pissed off about my life. So many wasted years. Every moment of my life I have not lived for God was wasted.
It took me 48 years to realise that a man has to work hard in this life. The sad thing is? Now that I do that? I have no-one to come home to at night. I just work from 6am until 6pm every day, and just come home to nothing. At least in monastic life, I could always go and speak to Our Lord.
I sit here at night and just say to myself, "David. No matter what happens, just get up each morning at 4am and go to work. And do your job to the best of your ability. [and God knows how much ability He graced and talented me with]. The funny thing is. I revel in dumbing down and doing a dumb job. In Imitation of Christ. He could have done anything, but chose the humble working life to teach dumb fucks like me a lesson?
I'll say to myself every night, "Drink as much piss as you like at night, but get a worth ethic you lazy bastard." I looke back on my life and just go, "David, you have lived a complete life of sloth." I'm still a slothful bastard when I come home at night, but I'll never not go to work. Work is the best therapy for a man.
Within a year, I will be a completely different person. So enjoy the rant and rave. Within a year, I will clam up, and only speak to God. They were the happiest years of my life. My soul was in a state of grace, and the Holy Ghost came into my soul. It was swept and garnished and clean. I used to lean on the bosom of Mary. She would wrap me up in her holiness.
God is merciful and patient. All He wants me to do at the moment is make a firm commitment to working hard for a living (with my hands), and leave the rest up to Him. And sinner that I am, I have made a firm commitment to God, that no matter what happens, I will never not go to work. Jacta cura tuam super Dominim et te enutriet te? (Cast your care upon the Lord and He will sustain you). Thank God I still have my memory, and still love the Psalms (even though I mainly think about naked women and how I'd like to go muff-diving?). I sometimes wonder if there's something seriously wrong with me. Then I dismiss that thought, and just go, "Erraverant ab utero. Non est usque ad unum." (They have all gone astray from the womb. There is not one that does good. Not one.").
I've tried to convince myself that payday makes it all worthwhile, but payday is just a slip of paper that says I earnt $2000 clear for the fortnight. And I have no-one to spend my money on. Hookers want $200 for an hour's sex. Wives want your blood? (Stuff, I just amused myself when I was in a dark, black mood?).
Mum, I am insane.
I think it's good that women are scared of me. I would only pound them anyway and make them realise they need a man in their life, not a metrosexual?
What about spiritual accountancy? I'd rather come home on payday and look over my payslip and just say, "Lord, I did this work for you. I'm working in Imitation of Christ, Who said, 'I am the way'." Lord, (excuse me mum while I pray to our God. I went all spiritual on myself. Stuff, God and the saints and angels must get so much amusement out of me being created).
Lord?
"This is God speaking, David. Not everyone who says Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of heaven. But he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven."
"Yep. Okay. Can I have a bit more time to indulge, though?"
"Have I not been merciful to you?"
"I can't argue with that."
I think I'll buy a woman I know a pink pen. As a thanksgiving present. She knows who she is. Another time, another place? ... Nup. It wasn't meant to be.
This is what blogging should be about.
Reality, honesty. "LIttle children, love one another."
Yep, mum, I'm insane. And loving it.
"Winners are grinners, and losers have their own blogs?"
Mum?
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