Wearing white gloves in anticlimatic

God I love this song. I can’t get over it. It sounds like a cross between Sade, Santo and Johnny, and spring rainstorms…and it’s really caught me in a particular mood. I feel like someone is missing. I’m not sure who. Lots of people are gone, but it doesn’t seem to be any of them. Like I am forgetting something. Someone. The warm consistency of my stable adult life of the last couple years has my past before that time fading out on me. Did I bring everything worth bringing with me? Was there something left behind? I don’t trust my memory.

I feel slightly estranged from a sizable portion of my family. They’re church-goers. I was forced, as a child, but can bring myself to tolerate it no longer. It’s not that I have any kind of beef with God, no matter how cold, cruel, or LIKELY NON EXISTENT he might be. But I do have a beef with Church, and everything about it. At least as far as I might feel compelled to attend. Maybe I like the idea of a society with a shared cultural set of values informed by religion, but the act of participating in the routine minutia of weekly Church services? I’m afraid I cannot abide that, nor suffer a single extra wasted minute of my precious time in Church listening to someone read the fucking awkward ass bible for the umpteenth time. A large portion of my family is very into that kind of thing; shame, people-pleasing as a virtue, forced “reverence” for relics and rooms possessing fantasies of purity and sanctity. I myself cannot stand it. It makes me want to break something, although that sounds rather petulant…and maybe I am.

My official motto for the 2022 season is “Fuck You.” My patience for people has evaporated completely. Things are just too bleak to be friendly anymore.

Last updated June 02, 2022