(As you’re painfully aware, I’ve been unable to do this for a long time. I am not going to delve into the details, but let’s just say that I’ve been busy, and I was trying to match up to some arbitrary standard that I just can’t reach in this frame of mind. I apologise to any readers who are expecting thought-provoking, skillfully-worded content—this is not that at all.)
I am most definitely not what you would call religious, though I’d like to believe that I am being watched over by a higher power. Not one to take part in ritualistic-formalities (and trust me, there is a ton of that amongst my people), I just mutter my little thank-yous on occasion, and go about my day. I don’t really pray, or frequent temples, or… you know, do the whole organised-religion thing very well. But lately (alright, yesterday), I had the urge to just lie prostrate on the floor for the longest time… begging… for everything in my sorry life to fix itself.
Yes, I know what you’re mumbling: “Great way to fix things, jackass.”
Shut up.
I don’t want to have the kinds of conversations I am having recently. I don’t want to have the sorts of thoughts and urges that’ve cropped up. I don’t want to deal with mounds of tension and stress without a hint of relief. I don’t want the nightmares, and I most definitely don’t want the convulsions.
I am generically quite good to the world, what the fuck is its problem with me?
pundit@emphaticallystatic.org
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