Atoning for MY sins

DSC_0134I’m in my post-Yom Kippur sweet spot.  Temple and fasting done.  Big time atoning done.  Clean slates abound!  Not a sin in site, squeaky clean and perfectly shiny on the inside.  But for how long?  I can’t hold out forever, and that first sin of the year always hits hard.  Damn!  I lost it.  Now comes my slow demise until next year.

But, mostly, I do okay, on the sinning front.  I respect my teachers and don’t tend towards xenophobia. But what if I had to atone for MY sins.  The one’s that aren’t in the book.  The ones that I committed at temple and on my way home that day.  If that’s how it goes (and I suspect my Rabbi friend would tell me it is), then I’m rightly screwed.

I, therefore, atone for the sins of….

Embarrassing My Children:  There’s little in the world that gives me more joy than making my eldest turn red.  It doesn’t take much.  I can’t sing in the car, or dance in my kitchen, or climb a tree without causing massive trauma.  Nothing better than hearing the chorus of, “Moooooooooom,  stoooooooop” as I break out into a Karaoke version of “Don’t Stop Believing” on the sidewalk in downtown Plymouth.  Or, share my twerking routine with the street performers in Quincy Market.  Give me a balloon hat, or a boa, or matching t-shirts.  Nothing better than watching the boys roll their eyes and pretend they don’t know me.

Sounding Like My Mother:  God, I swore I wasn’t going to do this.  But, “keep your hands off of each other” led to “I don’t want to hear another word from you” which eventually went down that slippery slope to “It’s not what you said, it’s your TONE”.   I used “TONE” with them.  The worse thing is, it made sense when I was saying it.  I have developed my mother’s delicate ear for syntax.  The kid’s tone sucks.  And, I can hear it.  And, it bugs me. God help me.

Cattiness:  So what if that girl’s shoes were a mess and if that bartender could have used some conditioner.  I should keep those things to myself.  There should be an internal dialogue somewhere where I discuss these important details.  Other’s don’t need to hear it.  I’ll be the strange girl at the end of the bar muttering to herself.  But, I promise to editorialize privately from here on out.

Hyperbole:  I’m not sure I do this.  But, my friends insist that I exaggerate a bit.  That sometimes my stories are a bit over the top.  That maybe the wait wasn’t THAT long, and maybe the guy wasn’t THAT big, and maybe the fish wasn’t THAT feisty.  But, you need to tell a good story, no?  You need to go big or go home, right?  So what if my epic day, wasn’t quite as epic as I said.  You laughed didn’t you?

Love of Shiny Things: I’m like a bird hitting my head against a sliding glass door.  I’m easily distracted by shiny, new things.  I spent most of the day yesterday purging my phone of all things megabitsy so that I could I download iOS7.  I went six hours without having it.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  So what if I have two apps on my phone now, so what if I threw out every picture I’ve taken since 2007.  By the end of the day, after selling my youngest’s soul for a couple more bits, I finally have it.  So, now…  I can see my picture filters before I take the shot, and I can swipe up and down and halfway, and I can pile up my browser history.  So what if, you need to swipe the other way to delete an e-mail, and Siri still gives all the wrong answers, and still don’t understand iCloud….  It’s soooooo purty.

So, for all the big sins that I did wrong last year, and for all the tiny sins that add up, and for all the things that are probably not sins but make me feel bad anyway, I atone.  And, I apologize for those sins I’m bound to commit in the next year.  I’m trying, I really am, but it’s all just so tempting.  I guess I’ll just have another glass of wine.

(Damn it!  Gluttony and Excess!  Here we go again)

2 thoughts on “Atoning for MY sins

  1. A) yeah. They all count. Sorry.

    B) “sin” is such a bad word. So “wrath of Divine Judgment.” it doesn’t really capture the Hebrew. The Hebrew word, “cheit” is an archery-based term. It means “missed the target.” And, what do you do when you miss the target? You adjust your aim, and try again.

    Well, if you miss badly enough, then you pull the arrow out of your friend’s head and call 911. But, you get the point…

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