Hope for the Future.

Not mine, necessarily.  But for the next generation's, maybe.

Stolen from the facebook status of an old partner-in-crime's husband:

Teenager: I'm not a nerd.  I'm an intellectual badass.

Maybe there is hope.  Just maybe.  I have hope because of kids like whoever said that, and my choir buddy who writes this blog and our exceptional organ scholar who said, in response to another (adult) singer's suggestion that we use the processional cross as a weapon, "the power of Christ compels you."

You know what?  Maybe there's hope for me too.  Maybe, just maybe, like my heroine (not heroin, because that's a downer, and it's clear that what I do not need is anything to squash my soul more since I've lately been the bug more often than the windshield), The Bloggess, I too can claw my way out of this crushing misery and get back to my intellectual badass, riotously funny self.

The self who said, while on choir tour, "I just bought a handle of gin, four bottles of wine, five cigars, and a lampshade.  It's gonna be a good weekend."

Yeah.  I want that bitch back.