The Undercover Iconoclast

By the end of last week, I was under the impression that I could live by eating sunshine and soaking up oxygen. By the beginning of this one, I knew I was wrong. I was spent. Two weeks without sleep while completely gutting and rewriting my WIP took its toll on me. I ended up a grumpy couch wretch, soaking up Chianti to the tune of Dr. House, who happens to be my fictional counterpart.

Or, so I thought. I have several seasons of the show on disc, but I haven’t pulled them out in years. Yesterday, I desired nothing more than to be grumpy with the Doc and went on an episode marathon. We have so much in common. We’re both withdrawn and aggressive at the same time. We both make highly inappropriate pronouncements. We’re both iconoclasts. I assumed I had grown to be this way through age, but my husband made a confession to me the other day. According to him, my dad warned him very early on that I was a bomb-thrower who took no hostages, and that I’d been throwing these verbal bombs since I was very young (I have no recollection of this, but I often don’t realize how rude I am, so this comes as no surprise).

But there is an enormous difference between me and the fictional Dr. House, aside from his being fictional. Dr. House always says what’s on his mind, while I hold a similar running commentary in my brain that frustrates me to no end and then eventually explodes in my offending an entire Sunday school class. Essentially, I don’t have House’s confidence, and, yesterday, I determined to get it–to be more like him–to not occasionally offend those at church, but to rattle everybody I come in contact with. I said as much to my family, and my children protested this decision. My eldest daughter told me I was bad enough as it was.

As I watched the episodes, I realized an equally important difference between myself and House. He is amoral. He has no Christian charity because he hasn’t been tempered by the need to cling to religion. And so I’ve come to an important understanding: I may be an iconoclast; this may be my divine role in life. On the other hand, going farther down that path might well be destructive. Instead, I’m going to opt for Christian charity and hope for the best. Oh–that doesn’t change the fact that I’m an iconoclast (not a pretty term, I realize)–only that I realize the need for charity.

Do you have a fictional counterpart? Will you own up to who it is–good, bad, or otherwise?

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