Resurrection, a Christmas Miracle

I know resurrection is his Easter themed gig, but this blog's being reborn a season early, reborn before the birth of the infant child. (Besides "every finding is a refinding," Freud, I bet, would agree every birth is a rebirth.) For a moment at least. To reflect on religion. And I've decided it's not about love or kindness or any of that. It's about difference. Isolation. Separating yourself into an identity. All those wheat from chafe images. Not an original thought. Merely one that's bound to hit you hard on the head lighting a menorah in a room while Katie and Erin sing other holiday songs and decorate angel and conifer-shaped cookies. Christians make me feel Jewish, meaning religion must be about contrast. Like on and off-center retinal bipolar cells, few things make me identify so strongly with any group as Christmas carols.

In dull triumphant news: I've turned in 60 pages of writing since Monday and wrote my wrist off for a final this afternoon. Only 25 more for Monday and I'm a second semester senior. After the agony of three seminar papers, that's got to be a good thing, right?