Happy Easter.

Happy Easter. (I was going to go with one of those "Spring Greetings" or some other inclusive generic bullshit salutation but I decided to just own this one).

Easter Sunday mass was rough at St. Robert Bellarmine. The church looks so small. I had to be one of the youngest people there. It made my pre-mass ritual (i.e. looking for attractive girls) more difficult. I thought I had made a wrong turn and ended up in the Cleveland Clinic Geriatric Ward. On that note, the Edith Bunker Choir was in full effect. God bless 'em. The pastor did have a quippy thing to say at the end of mass. "Before we extend the Easter joy to our community, let's extend that joy to the parking lot. Take your time." It's priest-funny. The bar is set a little lower.

I hope I'm never at a point in my life when being out of the parking lot is a high priority. "Man, if I only get out of this lot first, I'll be winning the race of life," as I flip off the older couples in their Crown Victorias. Who am I kidding... I already think this way. Speeding through yellow lights on the way home from work gives me the illusion that I'm gaining back a few wasted minutes toward my PhD. "YES! That's a three minute time saver. Here I come PhD-ville." I keep a running tally... it's true.

When Bloomington empties for the summer, I find major time savings. It's great. No kids (yikes... did I just refer to 18-22 year olds as kids?!) to get in my way to or from work. O Lord! Epiphany! I drive a 4-door Camry. My license plate has the unfortunate letters "DAD" in it. I wear a knee brace when I go jogging. I make that noise when I stand or sit... like it's an effort.

Sadness setting in. This festive, spring stream of conscious blog post just took a turn for the worse. I'm getting depressed and going to stop writing while I still have the will to live. I'll go beat my 3-year old niece, Marie, at the Easter Egg hunt at the family party. That'll make me feel better. "HA! Marie look what I found! I'm so much better than you!"