Many people, who are now my enemies for life because they’re obviously stupid and/or live in a world made of rainbows and gumdrops and unicorns, say that the Lord (That’s you God) only gives one as much as he or she can handle in life.
What one can handle and what you, LORD, seem to think one can handle are CLEARLY not one in the same.
And also, what does “handle” mean to you exactly?
Because “handle” to me, means effectively deal with in a balanced and grounded way without suffering heartache, anxiety attacks, ulcers, cancer, or the driving, blinding, aching and somewhat frightening need (and need really is too tame of a word) to stab somebody (namely you but also a few other chosen ones) repeatedly in the eyeball (if you even have eyeballs) with a plastic fork.
I’m just saying…
I’m just saying that I can’t actually handle all of this and that I clearly have a learning disability because as long and hard as I search for the meaning and relevance of my current circumstance, and the lesson to be learned as a result of it, it seems the only things I’ve learned in the last two weeks are:
1. You’re a huge jerk.
2. I should never, under any circumstances, be left unsupervised.
3. I should be much much meaner to people.
Interestingly enough, my mom says that the lesson I’m meant to learn these days, isn’t so much that of how to be even more of an asshole than I already am, as it is to genuinely grasp the concept of setting boundaries and understanding that
“Boundaries are not set against other people, but for yourself”
And maybe she’s right. Maybe this lesson is about limits and boundaries.
Maybe I should stop apologizing for other people’s shattered dreams and expectations.
Maybe I should stop letting myself be cornered, confused and railroaded.
Maybe I should just start saying NO.
And maybe, just maybe, I should start with you, almighty creator.
Dear God in Heaven,
I don’t know what the Hell (yep, I went there) you want from me these days but honestly, I’ve come to terms with the fact that other people’s expectations are their own encumbrance.
That’s right “Father”, it turns out that I am not responsible for your feelings or your happiness or anyone else’s.
Except for my children. Because there’s just enough Italian in my blood to keep that aspect of my catholic guilt running strong.
Look God, I care about you. I do. But you’ve seriously got to get your shit together.
And if you can’t do that right now, you need to leave me out of it.
I mean, I hate to sound ungrateful but I’m looking at the bounty that you’ve bestowed upon me the last 30 some-odd years and I’m gravely unimpressed.
I mean seriously, SERIOUSLY. If you actually honestly and genuinely wanted to give me a gift, and if you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do, you would chose one that is thoughtful, or meaningful, or beautiful – Like harmony, abundance, an orchard of hibiscus trees, a gift certificate for Agent provocateur or a velvet Toro painting.
You give me crazy-makers, stalkers, hives, root canals and life lessons. Really God? Seriously? You didn’t think chocolates or a massage and a sea weed wrap would suffice?
And you know what else? A wise woman told me years ago, Gifts are wrapped in ribbon, not strings.
Get it? That means I don’t owe you shit.
I’m not walking on eggshells anymore Holy Spirit, I am coming right out and saying it out loud, without being paralyzed by fear of hurting your feelings.
I’m publicly announcing it.
I’m putting it all out there.
As of this moment, I officially refuse to take your crap.
Love Jen xx