Confession

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

Is that how that goes? I’ve never really done this before, I’m not a religious man by nature. It’s just that I have a problem that’s been eating away at me, and I didn’t know where to go, to whom to go, with it. I need a confidant, a little comfort, somebody to talk to, otherwise it will consume me, body and soul, leaving nothing in its wake but ashes.

So I came here. Is that selfish of me? That I’d co-opt one of your holy sacraments for my own personal catharsis?

It’s not?

Thank you, I appreciate how open you’re being about all this, you don’t even know me, I’m not a part of your faith and yet, as I come to you in need, you accept me for what I am, don’t ever think I don’t appreciate it.

But I’ve gotten off track.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

It has been four hours since I ate a ghost pepper burrito.

I had it at a place here in town, it’s new there, it promised to “Terrorize My Tongue”, and I couldn’t resist it’s allure.

I’m that kind of person, the guy who wants something more, something better and bigger and brighter. The guy who puts hot sauce on everything. I thought I could handle it, so I treated myself.

Because I deserve nice things.

But now…

But now…

Oh merciful God, but now…

The burrito, even hours later, feels like it sits in the pit of my stomach, turning my entire digestive tract into an inferno. My tongue, long since destroyed, hurts even as I form the words I’m speaking to you, and I am sweating hot sauce. Absolutely sweating it. I’d offer to let you lick me and see for yourself, but you’re a priest and that would be weird, but trust me, it burns.

My sweat burns.

My actual sweat burns.

And I don’t even want to talk about my last bowel movement.

I am being punished, I know, for my hubris, that I might once have thought that I could handle this burrito, that the universe, that Yahweh or Allah or Ba’al or whoever, might punish me for thinking myself the master of its creation.

It was a very spicy burrito, is what I’m saying.

More burrito than I could handle.

I understand this, and I am sorry. So deeply, deeply sorry. I am not, as I said, a religious man, but I will prostrate myself before whatever deity might grant me salvation from what I am going through. I will, with joy in my heart and a smile on my face, embrace whatever God might give me even a little reprieve from what I’m going through. This is my darkest hour, my bleakest, most painful moment, and I will do anything, say anything and believe anything to have my suffering end.

I am not trying to bargain, I am merely asking “help me”. Help me in my hour of need.

What?

What do you mean, I’m not taking this seriously? I’m coming to you in need!

What? No, I’m not cheapening anything!

Fine.

Fine, I’ll leave. But in my hour of need you have turned me out, and I hope that you can make your peace with your conscience on that one.

Because I’ll be out there, suffering, wanting a moment of peace that you’ve denied me, and while you’re sitting here, smug in your self-satisfaction at having turned me out, I will be facing a worse fate than you could possibly imagine.

I’ll be interacting with REALLY spicy Mexican food.

And all I wanted was a little comfort.

Someone to reach out to.

Someone to ask for hope.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost Pepper…