Since, however, no one has memed the lowly Cogitator, he takes upon himself to 'tag' himself for confession.
They say confession is good for the soul. Because I agree, I post the following. Seeing these things ‘in print’ makes me face them as well as humbling me in the virtual sight of my neighbor. So...
I confess that...
I love books more than people.
I buy books to feel better.
these disordered affections can be verified by looking at my credit card statement.
I often feel angry and depressed if I come home and find an expected Amazon box has still not arrived.
I think my becoming a priest might save the Church.
I am a moral hero on paper, but a coward in person.
I expect, almost from the first meeting, that most relationships will end, fizzling away into meaningless civility or sheer nothingness.
my fatalism about relationships sometimes makes small talk and social gatherings painfully boring for me.
I get angry, sometimes seething, almost every day, at least once, in Taiwan traffic.
I sometimes daydream about hurting people to assert my boundaries or to teach them a lesson.
I don’t know how to handle my anger – feeling trapped under it as under thick, wet quilts.
I like being late so people have to run on my time.
I am afraid of making a firm vocational decision and instead prefer to hold as many cards as I can, 'just in case'.
I am afraid of knowing, definitively, God’s will for me (i.e., I am all but terrified of doing the Ignatian Exercises this Chinese New Year).
I repress God's clearest urgings in prayer, 'in the desert', in order to enjoy normal daily life 'in the light'.
I am afraid of admitting I do, in fact, know God's will for me.
I sometimes wish I could forget the last two-four years and just return to my seemingly simpler pre-Catholic, pre-Taiwan, pre-teacher life.
I sometimes wish something cataclysmic or tragic would happen, just to relieve me 'from the outside' of the horrible responsibility of making a decision.
I resent people who easily and happily enter into their vocations (especially marriage).
I distrust happiness for myself, resent happy ‘domesticated’ people, and often envy hedonists.
I think rest and pleasure are for weak, pudgy, ‘suburban’ people.
I sometimes want to ‘steal’ God’s omniscience more than I desire to partake of His other, ‘lesser’ gifts.
hearing the continual waves of news about friends and colleagues getting married and having children irritates and depresses me.
I look down on slow, thoughtful speakers as dull and mushy.
I get irritated if people do not or cannot follow my train of thought (both its content and speed) in conversation.
after over two years in Taiwan, I have developed a bias against Japanese people as greedy, perverted and arrogant.
I often lust after Taiwanese women in passing.
I frequently palpate my muscles to check how badly I’m atrophying.
I am very often repulsed by theology and philosophy.
I generally consider 'up-to-date' news 'analysis' (esp. as on most blogs, and esp. about politics) asinine, ostentatious, transient and fickle.
I often shrug my shoulders listlessly at the notion of 'advanced studies'.
I very often prefer the dark solace of mystical prayer, simple faith and the unreflective company of people in total silence.
I am often inclined to think of people who don't read as beneath me.
I feel helplessly torn between my desires for, on the one hand, study and academic dialogue and, on the other, simple earthy communion with the poor, sick and unlettered.
I cuss under my breath all the time.
I often neglect writing to friends and family so I can ‘tweak’ my blog instead.
I have dallied many times on my announced FCA posts.
I wish I could forget - lobotomize, in fact - many of my experiences and relationships so I could 'move on' with my own decisions, regardless of how they affect others.
I am afraid to cry as often as the urge comes to me (e.g., when leading a Bible study, teaching or talking with my dear students, greeting friends, etc.).
I will lie, or at least suppress the truth, to maintain shallow harmony (at work or among friends).
I loathe having to deal with money and resent my sizable medical debts as a burden on 'my future'.
my chronic allergy problems (e.g., runny nose, a dry, sticky throat, habitual throat-clearing, itchy, watery eyes, etc.) sometimes infuriate me, sometimes to the verge of helpless tears.
writing some of these things is really embarrassing, particularly when they ruin my finely crafted veneer of maturity, wisdom and poise.
writing this was not pleasant – too much light.