Yes to the e-mailer from Blue Mountain, I did indeed choose St. Jessica’s name; it was not given to me. And frankly, I chose it because I wanted to be as anonymous as Jessica. I thought that given my personality, her name might quell my ego and leave me forgotten. My choice didn’t diminish my ego one bit, but it turns out I have been completely forgotten. I’m a monk, so I guess that’s OK. It would be nice to hear from my birth brothers once in a while, however. Not counting them, there are only two or three more relatives left to die and then I won’t have any family funerals to go to. What a shame. If you ever see a contemplative monk at a public or family funeral with a somber look on his face, take it from me, he's doing all in his power to keep from bursting out loud, "Hallelujah! People! Food!" At the Apres Funeral Finger Food Feast those little miniature hot dogs sure beat the boiled cardboard I normally eat! And pretty women! Please, God, don't let this be a dream! Even the grandmothers look good! I heard they made a movie about it, but you won't believe what the scent of woman does to a man who has not been within a mile of a female for years at a time. Oh, of course, the normal physical reactions anyone would expect. But I'm talking about the psychological impact. I come home from a funeral and swear I can smell the scent of a women for a month afterward. A door squeaks at one end of the refectory at meal time and I catch myself looking up, expecting a woman to walk in. OK, I'm exaggerating. But not by much. You're surprised I would admit it? I'm a man, for cripes sake, not a eunuch. I didn't become a monk because I thought women were boring. I became a monk because I believed I was called to do so.
Strange thoughts earlier this evening: if I had married, I'd have more relatives. If I'd had children, I would have bequeathed new life. I wonder if being a monk is somehow selfish. I never thought it was.
The "borrowed" Wifi signal has dropped to 50 dbm. Gotta go to Compline!
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