I started drafting a letter today - a strongly worded letter to the Universe.
I used all sorts of cuss words...fuck, asshole, shit-ass-mutherfucker...and every combination in between. Because I'm angry. And sad.
I'm surprised by the anger, frankly. The sadness? Not so much.
It's just...over the last 2 months - not even two months - so many good ones have been stolen from the lives of people I love so much. First, John. Then, Debbi. Now, Moon? What. The. Fuck?
Add to this the hospitalization today of a friend who's already been through so much in the last year...someone who deserves to just have a normal time of it for awhile...and I'm feeling so overcooked. I want to kick rocks at someone ANYONE and there's no one at which to kick rocks.
It just is.
So I started to draft this letter. I started to say Just. Stop. It. to the Universe.
When I realized something.
I'm trying to assess blame for all these random heartaches...for all this grief. And, with the exception of John who was killed by a stupid stupid stupid man-child, there is no one to blame.
It just is.
It struck me...I actually see the benefit of believing in a god of some kind. I see why it's easier to believe we are the product and puppetry of some omnipotent being rather than just some random assortment of globs of gooey flesh.
Because when shit hits the fan? There's someone to blame. When things are bad, we're not alone.
Instead of having to face the fact that we're all of us alone.
Instead of having to face the fact that sometimes? Sometimes life is fucked up just because it is.
It just is.
A year ago: The Weekend Report
Coming Attractions
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