I studied Sepa’s painted face, lit by flickering candlelight, and told Him I was four weeks behind. After Wep Ronpet, I had planned to do one entry in the Obscure Gods project every weekend, and I had only managed an average of one every other weekend.
I did not make excuses to Him. When He agreed to be the sponsor of my project, I had given Him the ability to hold me accountable for my promises and my work—in exchange for attention, time, offerings, and prayers that would flow His way every time I cracked open my books. I needed someone to invest in this project with me so I didn’t simply peter out and give up when the going got hard.
Well, the going was hard. I wasn’t capable of my usual style of catching up; I couldn’t do more than one entry in a day, not when one entry consisted of several hours of research, essay-writing, and creating prayers and hekau. It was exhilarating and exhausting and gratifying and draining, worth every minute and every word and every straining synapse… but not something I could rush or speed-write.
Sepa does not use words with me; we don’t have a particularly close or emotional relationship that might warrant words. He does His duty, purifying the dead, fighting isfet, and guarding against poisonous creatures, and His overwhelming efficiency and work ethic inspire me to get off my ass.
“Right,” I told His image, turning to the stack of books at my feet. “I’ll catch up.” My progress will be gradual, constrained by realistic estimations of my time and energy, but being late isn’t the same as failing to do it at all.
After all, there are little-known Netjeru waiting for some extra attention out there.