A Week

>>  Friday, September 26, 2014

 It's been bothering me recently that I'm not getting to church.

Partly it's a bit of a rift I feel with the intolerance of the institution: I'm happy with same sex marriage, I think marriage after divorce is a second chance of happiness and I'm not worried what type of building we pray in or book we read,  I reckon we are all praying to the same God - no matter what we choose to call him.  This sort of freedom thinking doesn't fit quite right with the High Church I attend.  Although I do prefer a male priest, but that's more about my ability to maintain female to female relationships than anything deeper!

But I've been blaming my lack of attendance on time rather than disinclination.  As I was out running today I started to try to do some mental maths on how I spend my time, I failed, mental maths is not my strong point, so I'm going to write it here on the fly and see how I do:

A week                           168 hours

Sleep                               56
(I need 8 hours a night to feel good, but often get only 6 then make up for it at the weekend)

work                                35
(now I'm part-time I average 32 hours a week unless I'm on call then it's lots more so I'll add some for measure)
Commute and taxi             6

Guiding                             7
(average 5 hours a week, often lots more)

dressing, washing etc  7
eating    10.5
laundry     2.5
cooking    4
generally mothering   8
gardening/outdoor jobs    1
physio exercises     2
food shopping    2
general appts    1
animal care    2
blogging    4

Soooo I have 20 spare hours a week, surely enough to squeeze in a church service.  Which takes me back to disinclination.  So it's lucky then that I have the 'living my law' duty of community service coming up with a day taking the local school children to church in batches for harvest festival, and a world war 1 uniformed service and our new flag dedication service and I'm off to Walsingham on pilgrimage in a few weeks time.

Plenty of opportunity to chat with him upstairs and receive the full force of catholic guilt laden emotional juxtaposition.


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