I often daydream about joining a convent. Being surrounded by women and devoting myself to a life with a structure that is outlined for me. Just obeying someone else’s directions and not having to decide what to do all the time. Being quiet a lot of the time.
I don’t know most of the time whether I believe in God but I do believe in the universe and maybe it’s all the same thing. I know this is the main thing that I would have to come to terms with. I know I would need to make this final decision to live a life with less decisions.
I feel like a slug. Like someone hit me with salt but didn’t finish the job. I want to take the rest of my limbs off and just lay down and not speak, pull my thinning hair up and away hidden behind the coif and veil and cap and never worry about it again.
I could be the first salted slug to become a nun.
I feel a weight on my chest sometimes as if I am running out of time to do this. I will never do this. I am almost 30 and the age limit is 35. They won’t take me any more, the nuns. I’ll be too old and too full of responsibilities and too far from God.
Prattle Peach 