On Easter He Rose (So That I Wouldn’t Have To)

20120408-134904.jpgToday is Easter Sunday. This is the highest holiday of every Jesus-loving, God-fearing, Bible-quoting man, woman and child on Earth (and perhaps beyond that).

I don’t much care for it.

When I was little I liked dying eggs and when I got a little older I enjoyed hiding them for my little siblings and cousins. But still, it was always an excuse for my mother to wake me up early on a perfectly good weekend-day to sit in church.*

Today I had yet another rude Easter Sunday awakening, only not by my mother. Nurse Fuckface thought it was a good idea to wake up my withdrawal-suffering, easily agitated self and “suggest” that I get up and have breakfast because I should be on a regular sleep schedule…if I’m looking to get a day pass.

Fuck you and your day pass Nurse Asshole. Did you honestly think waking me up with a thinly-veiled threat would be a productive way to start the day? No, you must just be spending too much time with docile, overmedicated patients who respond to that kind of crap. I love my family. I would love nothing more than to spend the day with them, go to brunch, see a movie. I would love nothing more, other than to retain jurisdiction over my own consciousness, thank very much. So thanks, but no thanks, then to the day pass. I’ll take the over cooked scrambled eggs and mini croissant to-stay.

    *I did always love one particular thing about Easter when I was younger: the dresses. Wearing pretty pastel dresses with white stockings and gloves and white patent leather shoes made my Easter every year.
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