"Believing there's no God means I can't really be forgiven except by kindness and faulty memories."

So, I talk to sarcasticwriter quite a lot, usually after I've watched the week's House episode and just in time to keep her from fully enjoying it when it finally rolls around to her side of the country. That's the sort of friend I am.

I was talking to her last night, since House was shifted to accomodate Simon Cowell's sneering ass instead of Hugh Laurie's infinitely preferable sneering ass. And as a throwaway line to something that I don't even remember anymore, she said, "That's my gris-gris," which is like a luck charm or fetish type object. I think in this case it was used for a lucky thought process. That's the definition I'm going with: a gris-gris as anything that you believe makes things work, by a process that is not entirely rational. I think both I and sarcasticwriter as fairly rational beings. I think we still have a few things that count as gris-gris.

"I don't think I have anything that would count as a gris-gris," I said. And I tried to think of at least one. I have things that I value and would hate to lose and I have my routines that I follow because I don't like to think too much, but nothing that I put any belief in, I thought.

And I understand the difference between knowledge and belief. At least for me, the difference lies in how much you actually depend on one versus the other. There are things that I know, and there are probably things that I know which are not true, but for lack of knowing anything better I act on them consistantly. There are also things that I believe, which fall into the realm of faith, which I differentiate from knowledge simply by not acting on it. Or when I do, I try not to be surprised if or when it blows up in my face. And then there is something that falls heavily on the side of belief but that I continue to act on as though it were knowledge, and this, I think, is my gris-gris.

My gris-gris is no second chances. Flying without a 'chute on. Finding one path and not planning for what to do should things go south (and isn't it funny that that's a synonym for 'go to shit'?)

As far as gris-gris go, this one is stupid. But it is based on my deeper belief that if you throw yourself at something with no reserves for do-overs, it (the thing you are tossing yourself at) will catch you and you'll be okay. I was not dropped a lot as a child.

This should not be taken as an advocation of doing no planning. In fact it requires planning almost obsessively - every base that can be covered must be, because you're not getting another shot at this. It's just that I only plan within a very specific angle: Work extremely hard for a year to make the transcript transfer-ready, and then only apply to one school. That sort of thing. (I wonder how I had that particular example so ready to mind).

This gris-gris dovetails very nicely into my love of, almost addiction to, procrastination (also different from no planning! You do the same amount of planning, only you start extremely late). I have two papers due tomorrow. It is 12.00. I haven't written word one. But I believe that the minute I sit down and open that word processor, the paper will come, and it will be good and I will be a joy to my Literature professor forever. I know that I have done this before (although generally I tend to be a pain in the ass to my Lit teachers). I believe that an important part of the process of this success is the procrastination. I believe that a lot of the interest factor of my writing comes from the underlying desperation that, like an engine with a really good muffler, goes unseen and largely unheard, but keeps the whole thing running.

(I also know that this isn't going to work forever, and on top of that I know the importance of good editing, which my writing never, ever gets. Lack of time and all that. I'm a fairly good self-editor, though I think. I save it all up for the papers which is why you don't see any of it here. My story, sticking to it).

I also showed this in my applying-to-college experience, not once but twice. Twice despite the first time blowing up in my face in a dramatically big way. You want an example of knowledge that turned out to be wrong? I knew that I was getting into St. John's. The doubts I felt on that score were the skin-deep surface doubts that I also get when I get on an airplane. I still know I'm not going to crash.

Except that sometimes they DO crash, and as for St. John's, crash isn't nearly a violent enough verb. I incinerated, I disintigrated, I was annihilated. I was wrong. And now I'm doing it again, and while this time the belief is slightly different, the motions are exactly the same, because that is my gris-gris.

The actions: Apply to College. Do so late. Barely squeak by the application deadline. Have no second school.

The difference: This time, I don't believe it's going to work.

But! The gris-gris is in effect. My safety net is having no safety net. It's the paradigm I'm working in, that while so much around it has changed, remains the same. Hopefully one day my rational mind will have evolved to the point where this last bit of monster irrationality will leave me alone. That day is not today.

(The procrastination I've given up on trying to get rid of. LJ just makes it too damn easy. Who needs preperation when a nice indulgent journal entry feels ten times better and fills the time slot so nicely?)