Break Fast

I'm taking a Lent-fuled pseudo-fast from social media, and I have decided blogging doesn't count against it.

Lent-fuled because I have become dimly aware that I have very little control over the come-hither gaze of Tumblr, Twitter, and Pinterest. A fast because the people I most admire exercise at least some measure of control over their lives -- a trait I will never have, but can reach for for the rest of my life if I like.

A pseudo-fast because, I suppose, I need now to handle with rubber gloves and a measured gate a swath of religious terms and I ideas with which, in my childhood, I would run freely around the house, barehanded and open-hearted. Like taking a bubble bath in the Arc of the Covenant. Now thirty and gun-shy, I run a tighter spiritual ship, less given to attributing  to God, say, good parking spaces and recoveries from colds and more inclined to spend time crying in movie theaters and freaking out over rainbows. Which causes worry and grief in some (church friends, family, and my fellow drivers just after the sun drives away a heavy rain) and relief in others (me).

And blogging doesn't count because even mediocre posts like this require a measure of discipline my Tumblr-cruising self couldn't summon even if offered the totality of the Internet's Catherine Deneuve gifs.