Overheard outside of Joxer Daly's Pub:

"No, but I *know* lots of Irish."

Freedom comes slowly... or to the tune of my father's office shredder. Last night, after speaking with Patrick (who my father continues, invariably, to refer to as Peter,) I realised I couldn't honestly love Christ, and yet hold sadly on to such remnants of my past. So I recycled the rest of the books (threw out the hardbacks), tossed several other items, and put the cards (both decks) through the shredder... all the while repeating Hail Marys and feeling as if the sky would fall.

It didn't, the shreddings are in the compost, and when I went outside, it was starting to rain.

I love rain.

Perhaps I have been reading too much of St. Terese, but you know nothing so perfect can really be accidental...