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I did a decidedly un-Lenten thing tonight: Extra-large Cecil Whittaker's pizza (pepperoni & sausage) and chicken wings. Hey, it ain't Friday! [I am ashamed of you.--ed.] Why? Isn't this a pagan ritual to you anyway? [I'm ashamed that you think it is of any value.--ed] Meditation on the death of Christ and self-denial has no value? Who knew?
I fixed my bedside clock from the odd power outage the other day. I let it flash at me for far too long. It was a warning-sign of ongoing chronometric ignorance that demanded redress. It is true that I have this desktop computer and my cell phone to give me the correct time; it is also the case that unset electronic clocks remind us of the Fall in ways that other broken time-pieces do not. A broken clock might signify an important moment; it might be a gift from a loved one, or a part of history even when it no longer functions. An unset electronic clock screams, "Can't you see what's going on here?" like a demand for the sons of Adam to put things back in order.
Speaking of missing signs, I used to say, "No regrets" as a person with a well-formed conscience, or when I wanted to do something bold that I wasn't sure would pay off. I can't say it anymore; I do have regrets. I will have them. Or so it would seem. "I missed the point/I missed the signs/So if she's gone, the fault is mine." Sometimes, dropping a cross gets you an even bigger cross. I guess I hope for a joy greater than what has been lost.

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