I confess that we finally took down our Christmas tree and decorations this weekend. I confess that every year we seem to be one of the last in our neighborhood putting them up, and the last taking them down. I confess that once I do take down the decorations, I give myself silent permission to judge everyone who hasn’t gotten around to it yet.
I confess that I have no will power when it comes to food. I confess that I run somewhere between 20-25 miles every week, which should burn around 900 calories each for five runs, or somewhere in the neighborhood of 4500 calories over the week. How bad is my will power? Some weeks I actually gain weight. The chief culprits are clearly: sugared cereal, Oreos, and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.
I confess that I watched some of the Golden Globes last night with my wife. I confess that I didn’t really enjoy them this year. All I could think about the whole time is that they are created and hyped merely to try and catch me in another wave of marketing. The thing is that I always fall for it. I now have a long list of movies I want to see.
I confess that I have been noticing lately how much I constantly compare myself to others in order to compete with them. I confess that I can make anything, even personal relationships, into a competition that I need to win. It’s not a side of my personality that I’m very proud of.
I confess that I’m making my way through Eugene Peterson’s memoir right now. It’s taking longer than I wanted it to because, in my humble opinion, this is not a gripping story. It’s a good story, and I’m glad to get to read it. I like what I’m reading, but it is kind of a slow book. I confess that I feel awkward about critiquing anything Eugene Peterson does because he’s so dang cool.
I confess that I’ve been purposely avoiding the news for a few weeks, just to try and clear myself of all the negativity that comes along with knowing how totally broken our national government is right now. That people who hold so much power can be as underhanded, petty, conniving, and deceitful as our representatives in D.C. is profoundly disturbing. Sometimes the only sane thing a person can do is try not to notice for a few weeks.
I’m about 85% finished with the unabridged Les Miserables. I confess that I do not love it. I confess that the plot itself is sheer brilliance, but the four hour rambling digressions about the battle of Waterloo, the dress codes for the classes, the sentimental merits of the French Revolution, or worst of all, the constant over-blown worship of the human spirit has become a bit much. I confess that I’m more annoyed than enthralled. I’m pressing through because I hate to quit a book, but I really wish I would have read the abridged version.