People who aren't Catholic don't know what they are missing. One of things we do is something called the Sacrament of Reconciliation, but old-timers like myself still call it confession. You tell your sins to the priest, you feel sorrow for them, you do your assigned penance, you resolve to do better, and your sins are forgiven.

That last part is really important. Forgiven. Clean slate. That's why you go.

At a recent session with an old school confessor, it was suggested that I perform three acts of self-denial as my penance. Giving up something that I like and that I'm used to, to show contrition. Today I decided to start with music. No radio, no stereo, for a whole day.

It's only 1:37 p.m. and already I'm jonesing.

There's a lot of music around my den, and in the kitchen and in the car. A couple of thousand titles. And as I discovered today, I can't be in the car alone and not instinctively turn the radio on. In all three trip segments, I actually turned the dial and had it on for a second before I caught myself.

Now it's time to tackle the most tedious chore of my job -- exam grading -- and to do so in silence is going to be difficult indeed.

Tomorrow, no caffeine, for a whole day.

And on Sunday, the big one: No internet for the entire day, even though I will doubtlessly be seated in front of the computer as part of my grading chores for most of the time.

To people who are really suffering in this world, stories like this one are disgusting. Here's this rich, spoiled American boy bitching about no music, or caffeine, or internet for a day like it's real deprivation.

But to me, today, it is.

I'm doing my penance, wimpy as it is. I don't want to end up in hell like Tony Pierce.