I think I might be channeling my father.

[constance]

Aside from the fiendishly capitalist and corporate Barnes and Noble, every company I've worked for in the twenty-first century has featured obligatory moments of prayer in the workplace. Before meetings, before communal meals, before "extracurricular" functions, we all bow our heads for a prayer, silent or spoken. It's the price you pay for living in the Deep South; and man, it's a high price, at times, for someone who's agnostic at a stretch and only really not an atheist because she can't be unequivocal about what fucking salsa to buy*, much less about things as intangible as deities and human souls.

I try to be polite and respectful during these moments of prayer. I bow my head and keep quiet. I don't fidget or giggle or snort in derision. But sometimes it all gets to be too much, the way it did this morning, when our most fervent Monday-morning prayer leader begged God to "impose" his "will" upon "us all." I admit that a little snort did escape me. And suddenly I'd just had enough.

I mean. When I feel invisible spirits trying to impose their wills upon me, I'll reach for my powerful antipsychotics, thanks. I spent the rest of the prayer chafing at the idea that I should be cowed into pretending that I had any desire to be imposed upon. I held my head upright. My eyes were wide open. I felt enormously relieved.

If you're a Christian, more power to you. I still respect your right to believe in whatever God your faith leads you to. But I don't want a part in your worship any more, okay? Thanks for your attention in this matter.

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* (recommendations and/or recipes are welcome!)