A Day of Kati's Most Interesting Life

Way of the Cross was this morning. I woke up at the crack of 7:30, which is ridiculously early in my work schedule (okay, maybe not- I usually wake up at 8 or 8:30 with Michael anyway- but my work day usually doesn’t begin until 11:00). But I hadn’t woken up early enough, or maybe I should have paid more attention to the time as I was lounging about getting ready for work. At any rate, I wound up high-tailing it out of the house ten minutes later than I had wanted to.

I arrived at 8:50, ten minutes before Way of the Cross (Via Crucis) began. I ran into the office to grab some things, and then headed to our station. My RCIA group had the eleventh station- Jesus nailed to the cross- in the garden. The other stations were positioned all over the neighborhood, and several hundred people processed through the streets with a large cross. Someone played a trumpet; someone beat a drum.

Saul showed up first. Then Erica and Leticia. I asked Erica where her brother Gustavo was, and she said she wasn’t sure if he was coming. I said, Yes he is. Let’s go get him.

She looked at me apprehensively, but walked me to her house three or four blocks away (eight city blocks is a mile- just for reference). We slipped in, woke Gustavo, and then headed back. It was already after 9:30, and we were afraid that Saul and Leticia would be alone when the procession came.

But we got there, and waited. Gustavo came, and we waited.

At about 10:15, I was keeping a lookout when Marco drove by and told me that they were at the fifth station. He estimated it would be another forty-five minutes. My group slumped their shoulders. I said, Okay, Gustavo, take me to Carlos’ house. He said, Carlos? I said, Yeah, we got time, and we wouldn’t want him to miss out, would we?

So Gustavo and I walked to Carlos’ house, and spoke with his mother. We listened as she relayed messages from us back to Carlos, who we could hear yelling about how he was taking a shower. So we left instructions of where he should go, and headed back to the garden.

We all talked lightly about a number of things, including a certain question with which I’ve been entertaining people all day. Then- we saw the procession rounding the corner. Two more stations until us, and my group got all nervous. They started making jokes about what they were going to be doing (Gustavo, who was playing Jesus, said he was going to grab the hammer and chase people out of the garden. Then he got nervous, and said he was going to run and get Carlos to play Jesus. Then Erica and Leticia said they were going to leave. It was kind of funny, actually.)

And then they were coming.

Gustavo stood on a bench, arms extended, head down. Erica and Leticia assumed prayerful postures at his side. Saul knelt down before him. I squatted behind them, banging a hammer against two pieces of wood for the sound of nailing Jesus to the cross. And then we had it- a living painting.

Fr. Bruce brought the crowds through, and we all prayed. Within three minutes, the crowd headed to the next station, and we followed, our work in the garden being done.

As we walked on, Carlos finally met up with us. And we also saw Nina- the last member of the group that no one had been able to get a hold of. She had forgotten we were doing a station, and had walked the whole way with the procession.

I talked with a few of the Marimbistas, one of whom had questions about a paper he is writing about Hamlet. He wants to write about existentialism, and I felt a surge of pride. We had earlier spent a week working on an existentialism paper. I had told him I would make an existentialist out of him yet. I think I succeeded.

Anyway, um, is any of this interesting? Is it worth reading?

Because here’s the deal, as I write it, it sounds all nifty, and *stuff is happening*, and it’s cool and all… but… we sat around in the garden for two hours. And we talked, but we all agreed that it was still boring. Those three minutes of performing the station- that was neat. And walking the last few stations- that was neat too. But it was preceded by literal *hours* of boredom.

Here’s why I mention this:

I met this girl online a couple of weeks ago, Robyn. She’s a writer like me, and has been helping me with one of my stories. I asked for help on the site when I posted the last chapter and she responded. So I went and checked out her stories before I wrote her back and accepted. She said she had also gone to check me out and had come to this blog.

She said my life sounded interesting. But I thought, Heh, it’s just life. Then she told me she was still in school, was wanting to become a Forensic Pathologist, her Chemistry teacher, Karen, was trying to set her up with this job at a morgue, and you know, things like that, which I have to admit sound very interesting to me.

Then, she mentions to me that she has been home for the past month with “Glandular Fever.” The name sounds scary enough, but then to think about having been home for a month with it… I asked her about it. I’d never heard of it.

Well, it’s this virus that causes fatigue and nausea and depression, and two golfball-like protrusions to stick out of your neck. The symptoms typically last a month or two, and then the virus stays in your system for two years, during which time you can relapse, but then afterwards, you’re immune. Bugger for me, she said, I’ve gone and relapsed already.

She was talking about it like she was telling me about an ingrown toenail. She said that it was a really boring disease, actually. I couldn’t imagine how she could be so calm about it all.

But THEN, she continues on by mentioning this blog, and saying that her life is boring, but that it sounds like I’m always doing something new and interesting. “It must be exhilarating,” she said.

And I thought (my jaw still slack from having read about her ailment), What are you talking about? My life is so boring. It’s just life.

So that’s when I had this minor epiphany. People think *their* lives are boring, because people live *their lives*. Every day, I brush my teeth, and go to the bathroom, and wait for the bus, and I can categorically say that none of those experiences have EVER been what I would classify as “exhilarating”.

So I asked Michael about it, and he agreed that he, too, leads a really boring life. Now, maybe I’m biased, but I think Michael leads a pretty interesting life (And I even see him balancing checkbooks and playing computer games). But, at 8th Day, he organizes demonstrations, and protests School of the Americas, and does all sorts of research, and is always learning new things. He lobbies Congress and the UN, for crying out loud! Boring? No, not boring.

And based on my observations of three people for a couple of hours yesterday, I came up with this theory about how all people all over the world think their own lives are boring.

(I might mention now that I had a similar epiphany when I was still in college. I was talking to Dustin about all these interesting things I used to do. “Used to do”- like there was this six month period where I did everything interesting I’ve ever done, when actually, it was spread out over years, and interspersed with boyfriend troubles and homework and flossing.)

Anyway, I wrote Robyn back with this minor epiphany, telling her that, yeah, my life probably is actually really interesting. It’s even the life I want to live. It’s just that I do all these other really boring things (like, I took a four-hour nap today… and I think I finally licked that funk that had me ill this week—boring, boring). Balanced with the interesting stuff, to me, it just seems like life, plain and simple. And, I said, Your life is not boring. I think it’s rather interesting, actually.

Robyn wrote back that she could definitely see how people would get so used to the routine of their lives that they would start taking it all for granted and not realize how interesting other people would think they were. But, she said, she still couldn’t imagine her life being interesting to anyone else. Until… she began to wonder… How many people have ever had a koala ride around on their back? And how many people have ever had their clothing that was hanging out to dry get attacked by kangaroos?

I’ve been entertaining people with that question all day.