Posted August 24th, 2003 by Michelle

I woke this morning without even the semblance of a hangover. This is strange. I suffer from terrible hangovers, without fail, if I’ve had more than two drinks on any given night. I woke before the alarm, and not only did I not have a hangover, I also was missing the usual sense of dread and loss that follows me from my dreams. In other words, I woke up feeling good. I went to work, still feeling good, and worked really hard for six hours before getting off work and riding to the West Side Highway. Feeling good. There were too many people, so I headed to my gym, feeling good about working out, and it was closed! Snow day! Instead, I rode home through the twilight, feeling good both because of and in spite of the fact that I still love and still hope.

I’m not sure how to feel about John J. Geoghan, the priest who was strangled to death in jail yesterday. This man was accused of molesting over 130 kids during his years as a parish priest, and that is only the number who actually came forward. He is said to have committed abuse even at a Red Sox game. Most of the people who he abused were upset that he was dead, since they wanted him to suffer through the rest of his life, and I have to wonder about the guy who killed him. That guy is going to be tried for murder and he’s already in prison.

I wonder if the little things I do that I know are wrong are the seeds of greater destruction. I know I have to count things and separate them into threes, and I wonder if I indulge this impulse if I will end up drooling in a cage somewhere, having OCD’ed myself into insanity. And if I do not allow myself to do these things, can I save myself from madness? This priest molested over 130 people. That means he had to find over 130 opportunities, over 130 situations and children that he could manipulate to his advantage. And I wonder if he believed in hell, and if he did, why he didn’t try to go to therapy, try to get some help. I wonder if he let this guy strangle him without putting up too much of a fight. I wonder if he thought he had done nothing wrong. I wonder if he had any kids.

This summer has been the shortest of my life, or so it seems. Next weekend is Labor Day, which, when I was a kid, meant that the pool was only open for a few more days. I’m not nearly ready to face any sort of cold weather.