My insides want to be on my outsides.

Because my employer is ay) one of my best friends and bee) beyond fabulous, and because I am ay) loyal like nobody’s business and bee) a complete and total dumbass, I went to work today. I felt like I was being slowly killed the entire time.

Miss Pat –one of our most faithful patients– came in for therapy, took one look at me and said “You don’t feel good.” Now, I was doing a pretty damn good approximation of well-put-together and chipper, so she startled me.

“Flu;” I said, and did that mouthcorner smile thing that I’m internationally famous for, “how could you tell that I was punk?”

“Your eyes,” she said, “it’s all in your eyes.” I marched her on upstairs and as I was readying her table, she put her hand on my upper arm and leaned into me conspiratorially.

“The flu may have you feeling poorly, but it’s not the flu’s got that look settled in the middle of those eyes of yours.” She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to my forehead before going facedown. I was stunned and my insides fell all over themselves. What do you say to that; how do you respond to someone who sees straight into your center?

My everydamnday is filled with the supernatural and I’m pretty fucking sick of it, altogether.

Last night my favorite watch quit moving along. It stopped at 6:21 pee eem, central standard time. Not-so-coincidentally, at that exact same time, someone was typing these words to me:

“I’m not looking for a point.”

Something in me cracked in two upon reading that, because well…just because.

Look, you people, it’s not that I’ve never had challenges to my faith before; it’s simply that it’s never been an issue. Though I’ve been told repeatedly in the past that I have plenty to take issue with God about, I just never have. It’s never been necessary. Hell, it probably still isn’t, but I find myself closer and closer to snapping; I’m edging more and more toward having a screaming hissy fit and punching the air and rebuking the day I was ever born and boy is that hard to admit out loud.

If I go a little crazy(er) for a while, just ride it out. It’s my version of flopping out on the cold ground, limbs akimbo, and hollering ‘WhhhhHHHYYYYYYYYYY????’ in my most petulant, despair-laden voice.

Also, um, be careful what you pray for. That bit is no cliché. Be very, very precise in your wording.