Reading other people’s religious conversion stories fascinate me, even though I know that I will never be one of them or write a story anything like theirs (unless you count taking the side step from atheism to atheistic satanism counts… I suppose to some people it might, even though there is the same basic foundation of a lack of belief in the supernatural, because all we do is consider Satan our role model). I suppose it’s because I absolutely know that I will never become like them or live my life like they live theirs, although I don’t mean to sound like I’m saying that in a holier than thou, “I’m better than you” way. It’s just that our lives are so markedly different from one another’s, and they always will be. I didn’t even intend to live that kind of life if I had married Bub’s father — I wasn’t going to adhere to any of the doctrine. I might have pretended to on the outside, at least to people that didn’t know that I had never believed in the existence of a higher power and never would. (And in case anyone asks: religion was actually not the primary thing that separated us, although it was one of the most major things. There was also the fact that once Bub was born, his father made it clear to everyone that he did not actually want to be a father. There was just sadly no denying that.)

I also find religious doctrine, and the rules of some of the “harder line” religions, a bit — or a lot — peculiar.

So many people are convinced that as I get older, “and I get closer to death”, I might recant, but I don’t see the need to change my mind on thoughts that I have had for nearly my entire life out of fear of the unknown.

As I like to tell these people, “if I am wrong, don’t you think baiting and switching will infuriate your God?”.