Baby! I Know Your're Asking Me to Stay

Anyone who knows me closely enough knows that I struggle with things besides depression, weight loss, and holding on to jobs.  I struggle with God.  The Big G.

Is there one?
Is it Aliens?

I have no freaking clue.  Because of the fact that most people who do believe in God have faith, this makes conversations a little bit harder.  Usually ending in, "You just have to believe."

Huh.

I know my bible fairly well, reading mostly out of a research frame of mind, and also it is useful when you are gay to have the multitude of things the bible says you shall not do on hand as a retort to one line in Leviticus.

Me and my polyblend clothing are happy together.  I am also just as happy wearing only cotton.

For some personal reasons I decided yesterday to pray.
It went something like this:

"Uh, hey God, it's me.  Okay wow that was a Judy Blume start. Sorry.  Not that I don't like Judy Blume, I do.  Good work with that one God.
Okay ummm, I guess you are kind of busy (thinking IF he is even there).
So, yeah, uh, a lot of bad shit has been happening around me lately.  My dear friend was killed, my mother died, my aunt died, my friend has breast cancer (and I am sorry but REALLY? She is a school teacher!)
yeah God, forget this, I just want to tell you to fuck off.
I am sincerely pissed at you.
Why not give me breast cancer? Kill me and bring back all these other people.  I am nothing special.
I think people will eventually figure out how to do their own damn hair.
Instead YOU chose for a sweet farmer, an amazing mother, a fantastic brilliant aunt, and let us not forget a father or two in there.
Wow, okay  I am angry.
I do not want to do this.
Uhh, Amen."

Hmmmm

That did not go well.

Oh but people will tell me it did!  That all I did was reach out! That God can handle me yelling at him! Rejoice! Amy has found God!

Uhhh, no.  I didn't.

I found anger and more unresolved issues.

This morning I woke up extra early due to dogs that are one more pile of poop away from being put up for adoption.

I got my headphones out and set off to conquer Mount Dishmore.

What did I choose to listen to?  Godspell.

I sang, I soaped, I danced, and was wholly (not holy) in the moment of just being there.  Being with the warm water, the music in my ears and head, each dish, cup, looking at it, feeling it.  I was there!

I may not have been at Woodstock but damn was I THERE doing dishes! No acid needed.
I felt euphoric.

Naturally I can attribute this to endorphins from the dancing.  Nothing at all relating to God. Unless God gave me the endorphins.

Please note that I did not bring up religion.  That is enough to make me even more angry.  I am of the "Whatever works for you" gang.

I do not know if I am going to pray today.

  I do not know if I will ever have, find ,and hold on to the slippery elusive thing called faith.

 Even if George Michaels says I have to have it.