Consecration Camps
Most camp stories you hear are pleasant and fun, bringing us back to the good old days we all miss. This is not one of those stories. A word of warning, it would be best to skip this post if you are the type of person that’s easily offended – or actually, have ever been offended by anything in your entire life because I'm pretty sure that this will do it for you – not that I derive secret joys in bashing anyone religious or blood-related to me, it’s just that… well… sigh… I have no defense for that argument.
Anyways. So I spent the last weekend in a crappy counseling camp of sorts three hours away from civilization. My mother regularly makes lame attempts to fix our non-existent relationship, this time I was led to believe that there would be spa-like facilities and highly-trained professionals to attend to our needs in this place. Sigh… Where do I even begin?
The first thing I noticed was that there were no licensed psychologist within a fifty-mile radius. To make things worse our assigned ‘counselor’ boasted of having a strong religious background - in fact she has been serving as a Christian Family Counselor for seven years now. Wtf? No offense, but I’m not even Christian. Neither was my mother. It thus boggled me, what was she thinking when she made that appointment? She probably wasn’t thinking at all.
I go to these things to stop her nagging. I've figured it all out. One therapy session usually lasts 10 to
11 months of peace and quiet on my part. After that the nagging cycle starts over – not that the therapies had ever helped by the way. It’s really similar to Feng Shui, the ancient art taking strange things and placing them in even stranger positions. You aren’t really sure if putting that damn brown basketball in your trunk and hearing it go whomp! whenever you start, brake, turn, or run over humps and holes make one darn difference at all, but you keep it there anyways less you risk displeasing some god in the heavens and get punished by getting stuck behind an old lady in the fast lane on your way to work tomorrow – again, for the fourth time this week alone.
They say trees and greenery possess calming effects to the soul. After listening to the counselor talk for ten minutes I was having clear images that included heaving an enormous hot tub into the forest – not that I actually did -- there were no hot tubs there, but had a great desire to do so anyway. So no, the trees didn’t help much.
By the end of the second day I couldn’t quite decide who I’d rather bloody murder more, the witch preacher, my mother, or myself. No, actually that’s not exactly true. I didn’t really want to kill my one and only dear mother. But I did hope someone else would do the job for me.
Anyways. So I spent the last weekend in a crappy counseling camp of sorts three hours away from civilization. My mother regularly makes lame attempts to fix our non-existent relationship, this time I was led to believe that there would be spa-like facilities and highly-trained professionals to attend to our needs in this place. Sigh… Where do I even begin?
The first thing I noticed was that there were no licensed psychologist within a fifty-mile radius. To make things worse our assigned ‘counselor’ boasted of having a strong religious background - in fact she has been serving as a Christian Family Counselor for seven years now. Wtf? No offense, but I’m not even Christian. Neither was my mother. It thus boggled me, what was she thinking when she made that appointment? She probably wasn’t thinking at all.
I go to these things to stop her nagging. I've figured it all out. One therapy session usually lasts 10 to
11 months of peace and quiet on my part. After that the nagging cycle starts over – not that the therapies had ever helped by the way. It’s really similar to Feng Shui, the ancient art taking strange things and placing them in even stranger positions. You aren’t really sure if putting that damn brown basketball in your trunk and hearing it go whomp! whenever you start, brake, turn, or run over humps and holes make one darn difference at all, but you keep it there anyways less you risk displeasing some god in the heavens and get punished by getting stuck behind an old lady in the fast lane on your way to work tomorrow – again, for the fourth time this week alone.
They say trees and greenery possess calming effects to the soul. After listening to the counselor talk for ten minutes I was having clear images that included heaving an enormous hot tub into the forest – not that I actually did -- there were no hot tubs there, but had a great desire to do so anyway. So no, the trees didn’t help much.
By the end of the second day I couldn’t quite decide who I’d rather bloody murder more, the witch preacher, my mother, or myself. No, actually that’s not exactly true. I didn’t really want to kill my one and only dear mother. But I did hope someone else would do the job for me.
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