Life can sometimes suck like a leech at the arse polyps of an emaciated vampire [serves him right, you’ll say now, cynically].
Three nights ago I found myself at exactly such a vacuous crossroad, drained of every bit of faith.
As I lay sobbing in my bed, contemplating the edge of my mattress with suicidal gloom, it occurred to me that I was the most tragic person I knew in the Whole Wide World. I decided right then that if God was my Witness, I would receive a message from Her directing me on the course of my impending life-altering decision, “just about any moment now…”
Resolving to act by Her Will, whatever It be with dignity and fortitude, I set about lying back in bed, ready to receive my Instruction reposed in sorrowful resplendence.
I hit my head against the headrest. Hard. It hurt.
1.) Shriek away the welling rage at this final indignity?
2.) Change gears from sob to wail mode?
3.) Shut up and contemplate the meaning of what had just happened.
Chronically given to irrational responses, I shut up. And, I thought.
A knock to the head.
[Contrarily (having pre-empted your objection) this is not poor grammar. It is in fact a blow by blow account of the thunderous drama, as it unfolded, in my head].
The Sibling was right, yet again.
[Sagacious Siblings, when they strike with sound judgement, can be such wet blankets at pity-parties, na?]
“Pull your head out of your arse H, and wipe the shit off your eyes. Your eyes. Eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
As her words rippled through my brain, I firmed my resolution.
That night I did not jump off my bed. I chose to sleep instead.