I am exhausted. And nasty, really tart tongued, and short tempered. It has less, truth be told, to do with the Holy Week marathon (coupled with Coward,) than with a relapse -- I had thought I was in the home stretch of the shingles, they were less painful for a couple days and today -- ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!
Real agony.
On the other hand -- O, how I love my choir. They KICKED on the Gluck De Profundis, absolutely KICKED.
It was beautiful, and moving, and quite, quite marvelous.
And God answered my prayers, too windy to do the procession outside (on the other hand I will be DAAAAAAAAAAAYs cleaning up the back yard...)
Cluster rehearsal, not quite so good, and I also think liturgically a lot of what we are doing leaves a great deal to be desired, but what can I say, it's out of my hands...
Oh, and a blog called Suburban Banshee has a top ten signs that the Motu has got you manic --
http://suburbanbanshee.wordpress.com/2007/03/27/top-ten-signs-youve-succumbed-to-motu-mania/
-- and one REALLY tickled me: during meetings at work, you doodle complicated allegorical pictures involving the Holy Spirit, eucharistic messenger angels, and scantily clad women labeled Una, Sancta, Apostolica, and Ecclesia who are feeding treats to St. Corbinian’s bear.
Trad soft-core, no?
Universalis, your very own breviary in pixels...
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