Fervor

"I am only going to say this once; if you do not stop harassing me I am going to contact the police."

As much as I hart poor Joanie across the way, I had to put a stop to the behavior; she was driving her power chair into the vestibule of my building and dialing my intercom, because she needs toilet paper. If I had sales, even if I had only succeeded in completing my hearing loss piece (the editor of which declined my Linked In invite, so there you go; it smarts just a little despite the fact that it was my failure under pressure), I'd give the barnacle tart what she needs, but I myself am in a near constant state of being overwhelmed, and decided it was necessary to shut her down. Do I enjoy behaving toward her as so many have toward me? No. I understand she is lonely. I understand she is looking for support. Frank hates her, and to the degree I hate him as an ex-fiance, I am tickled. But my understanding of Joanie nevertheless necessitates limits on my mercy. I am not getting paid to be the pied piper anymore. Was she harassing me as a matter of criminal liability? Maybe. What differentiates her behavior from my own as it relates to using email to converse, or chasing a personal attendant, or Daniel Schneider ceasing to respond to me once I asked to be removed from his Cosmoetica list, or what differentiates it as a dangerous behavior, is a matter of degree.

Would it alarm Jorge Mario Bergoglio to know that I would kill for Le Santa Sede? Catholic atheists are scary! But it is a basic truth: I would defend the Vatican and the Papacy regardless of the sacrifice; every Pope should be a radical Christian; he is also the last vestige of the Roman Empire, and the college of cardinals would do well to remember that.

I weep for Francis. Sheer zeal.