"Oh hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii"

I just caught myself using the fake phone voice. 

You know what I'm talking about. One minute you're pounding away at your keyboard, letting all your aggression out via angry typing that could wake the whole office out of their post-lunch coma, and the next thing you know your phone is ringing.

You think of a naughty word. You think of two or three naughty words. How dare that person interrupt your no good, absolutely horrible, could not get any more ticked off mood.

And then it hits you, like magical fairy dust.

The fake phone voice.

Oh hiiiiiii. How are youuuuuu? Oh I am JUST wonderFUL! How are YOU? Oh you ARE? Oh that's just WONDERFUL!

It's enough to make the person angry typing in the next cube over want to fling their stale granola bar at you that they've been meaning to eat for the past six months.

And then the phone conversation is over and you hang up and resume the angry typing. And everyone in the office wonders just what in the world took over your body while you were on the phone, and where the heck that delightful presence has gone.

I've been doing a lot of angry typing lately.

God and I aren't speaking. It's completely and totally immature on my part, and no matter all his failed attempts at trying to reengage contact-- New Kids on the Block on the radio on my commute into work, fluffy bunnies outside my apartment, sunny days-- I'm still not returning his phone calls. 

Which is kind of hard to do when you work for a Catholic newspaper and all.

I've heard of crises of faith and all and there's certainly been moments I haven't felt like praying or going to church (usually during some sort of semi-annual sale somewhere), but I think for the first time in my 23 years of life, I'm actually encountering a crisis of faith.

And it's not because I don't have anything to say to God. I have plenty. He just hasn't been listening. No matter how loud I've been shouting while I cross the Hoan Bridge.

Seriously. Shouting. 

There's a lot of stuff going on in our country, in our world, and of course in my own life, that keep me up at night. That make me rant to my parents so much it requires three phone conversations a night. That make me scour websites endlessly looking for more information, for more links, for more, more, more.

And of course, as I learned somewhere along the way, through my struggles and frustrations there's really only one place to take it all to if you really want something to get done.

God.

But I'm starting to feel like that kid jumping off the diving board at the swimming pool trying to get his dad's attention.

Dad! Dad! Are you watching me? Dad, look! LOOK! You're not paying attention! DAD!!!

No answer. No response. Just me flailing about in my one-piece from seventh grade on the diving board, trying to keep my balance before I do a belly flop in the water.

Which would be ridiculously troublesome. Particularly since I can't swim.

I've tried vigil candles. Pilgrimages to Holy Hill. Daily mass. Confession. Reading the Bible. Putting money in the collection. Donating items to charity. 

All things I generally thought would make God say, 'Hey! Amy's asking for my attention over there!'

Nope. Nada. 

I'm not really sure what to try next. The angry typing isn't getting on his nerves enough to listen to me. And I'm sure not heading off to the nunnery anytime soon.