Convent Mondays Are Hard

Today was the first weekday of this process. I know that shouldn’t make a difference, but somehow it does. Weekdays are designed for action. You are supposed to be doing things out in the world. I felt it in my desire to check my e-mail and Facebook when I used the timer on my phone. I felt it in my reluctance to get moving on the day, just like it was a typical Monday. A convent is, in many ways, a retreat from time, or at least our perception of it. I don’t know if three weeks is enough time to feel some sense of that sort of disconnect, but I do know this: The stirrings will get louder and meaner as this goes on.

Today reminded me of something else. While my TV will stay off, my mother will have her’s on ALL THE TIME. This is not usual behavior for her, but once a year, during the month of July, my mother becomes a sports fan as obsesses with the Tour de France as anyone in Chicago is with the Cubs. She will watch the same race twice in one day. She takes notes. She keeps a running tab on who is in what place. She gets information on the route weeks before the race begins. This means there is a consistent din of noise in the background for this adventure in quiet. I have not found it distracting at all. Not yet, but that is another thing that will just have to play out.

Two days down, nineteen to go.