After a few hours sword fighting, I came back to the warmth of my sister's house. While sitting, talking and listening to a new age version of O Fortuna, I began to fiddle with a keychain I had found in a bowl beside the door. This, I assumed, belonged to my safely atheist sister.

So she has this Mormon roommate who I have known for 3+ years. I met him in a creative writing group, where as well as being fanatical, he distinguished himself by writing satirical sci-fi.

On the keychain was a little stainless steel vial, so wondering for what melodramatic and significant reason my sister had this, I opened it. Looked in. Darkness. Poured it out on my hand. Hmmmm... oil. I stare blankly at it, and upon noticing, everyone stares blankly at me. By their reaction, I assumed that this was some self-defense liquid, to be thrown in the face of an offender, and my life would quickly drain away. I looked hopefully at my hand. But, of course, the oil was, in fact, oil. But it was Mormon holy oil, as I was told—with which the elder (Mormon roommate, whom the keys belonged to) anoints and cures spiritual/physical pains, rather than the self-inflicted woes of some heretical bitch.

Sigh. I tainted the oil that I hastely poured back into the vial. It would have been more pleasing if it had burned through my unholy hand meat.

Maybe he'll forgive me. After all, before I knew about his godliness, I quoted, "The bad news is, the aliens have landed. The good news is, they eat Mormons and piss gasoline!" (Utah Phillips) unto him. He did laugh, and all was good.

But still, I'm an idiot. If I wanted to cause him spiritual angst, I would try to convince him of his religious insincerity/hopelessness/hypocrisy/immorality/narcissism, whatever he responded to. And all I did was taint his oil. Damn. Insult isn't what it should be. For me. Yes, for me. I want deliberation!

In conclusion, I'm an idiot.

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