Go to read Cathy’s account of her battle with cancer over at Cake Eater Chronicles.

Stated, in this case, in the form of a Battlestar Galactica story:

In my dream, Chief told me, in a very sympathetic way, that he was really sorry, but I was now obsolete and that it simply wasn’t worth it to the fleet to fix me. He walked away, shaking his head, and rejoined Callie (who annoys me to no end) who was shooting me sympathetic glances. I laid there, on a gurney, in the middle of the hanger, the funky lighting doing absolutely nothing for my already pale complexion, and I was stunned. I thought I was worth repairing. I thought Chief would think so, too, as he’s generally a pretty sympathetic guy when it comes to broken stuff. Alas, this was not the case. Then I woke up. In a sweat, but that’s another story entirely.

You could perhaps see where I would draw the conclusion that confession is good for the soul from that, eh?

Then send whatever form of Best Wishes your world view calls for.

(Via Chad)

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