February. You little month full of events, you. Groundhogs and Valentine's, now sugar-free Peeps too, my anniversary, birthdays galore, and my winter blues and blahs. Back-to-back bills to pay as well. And usually a couple pounds added to the bod for warmth and, ahem, comfort. Luckily I own jeans the next size up. I am going from tight and sexy to baggy, which may give the illusion that I've lost weight. Wish I could fool myself. I could always tap into the virgin treadmill in the garage. Not ready yet. Not depressed enough. Not fully defeated as of now. Doing very well actually.

Tomorrow begins the first day of my last class. I'll have to watch for the diploma-by-mail. Wonder if it'll have my middle name or initial on it. Mythology class was by far my favorite. It explained much of the way I think. I'm reading Joseph Campbell and not novels or short stories of any kind. I'm also reading Paramahansa Yogananda and Thich Nhat Hanh. I eat that stuff up.

Oh God. Last night at work J. pooped on all those in his born-again congregation by spatting off about his religious beliefs. (The guy is in his 40's. He's a councilman too. There's no love in politics, I tell everyone.) For instance, how could the Big Bang have happened if the Bible doesn't mention it? And giving money to God is the only way to have financial security. And waiting until marriage #2 to have sex. His wife, you see, has a friend who had sex before she was married. And gays should not have sex or be married (he is so gay but won't admit it). And not even Catholics live in a way deserving of heaven, only those like him! Un-f-ing believable!

R. and I were in shock. We were both scavenging about to find some distraction to get us the hell away from the perversion. Ugh. Total sicko. Get a guy already, fruitcake. The guy literally lives in a tiny hall closet. And he needs to clean it out.

Am I better than him? Well, he thinks that if more people were like him the world would be a better place. Yeah, let's get everyone to convert to Christianity. That should be easy. My feelings are that I understand his tiny mind because his stone cold beliefs are represented in beautiful, imaginative ways by most every culture and every time, if only he'd open up the door to see. In other words, I understand him but he doesn't understand me. Seems to me that the person who understands and has compassion for anyone would be more peaceful.

Another thing is that you just don't go blurting out about your narrow mind unless doing so broadens it. It's like telling someone that all bathrooms should be tiled in white. Period.