I am tired. Like really tired. Like did not get enough sleep for the last six months tired. More like too much sleep mixed with not enough sleep, then tossed in a bag of emotional fuckery to be mixed with a magical blend of spices that include anxiety, joy, depression, confusion, anger, shapeless ambiguity, and a constant on state to create the most delicious middle finger-lickin’-good bucket of cosmic twaddle this side of a pandemic. And it’s an election year! Between an incompetent old man and another incompetent old man, I feel as though my choices are full virtual school with no internet or a limited blended model with classes every other Friday with band still meeting every day at 5 AM.

I feel disconnected. I feel overwhelmed. I feel as though the house of cards will soon fall. I feel. And for this, I am grateful. I am able to feel. I am indeed in a funk. And G.I. Joe would tell me that self-awareness is half the battle. And I would tell G.I. Joe to mind his own business before I remove his arm from his socket. Of course, I am now talking to a G.I. Joe doll but this isn’t strange, is it? As long as he does not talk back, we are good, right? Goodness! But don’t I want to feel? Existence has a lot to do with pain! The religious among us will quote some obscure book, chapter, and verse to a promise of a better afterlife. I am here now. Suffering happens in real time, and if God cannot deal in real time, what’s the point?

Now before anyone offers an essential oil, invites me church, or brings a brother to admonish me, stop. Just stop. Here’s what you can do. I’ve been praying for six years for God to take away MS from my wife. It hasn’t happened. My righteousness needs more righteousness. Maybe you really are more righteous than me as you believe. Let’s find out together as we bow our heads to pray.

I am tired of the twaddle, the tweets, the twats, MS, and the fuckery. Aren’t you?

All you do is scare and lie to try and get what you want. You’re a godless woman. Ain’t you tired, Miss Hilly? Ain’t you tired?

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