(After Question of the Week: Does My Wife Have Cancer?)
Me: You know I have to sort of hate you now.
God: I know.
Me: It’s nothing personal.
God: I know.
Me: It’s the impersonality of death and suffering that makes it so blindingly infuriating.
God: I know.
Me: Makes it hard to believe you give a [bad word] about us.
God: I know.
Me: But I understand the necessity of death. I wrote Death is the Answer. I get it.
God: I know you do.
Me: I don’t expect to be exempt from the ravages of death and its ugly cousins.
God: I know you don’t.
Me: But dang, man.
God: I know.
Me: Yeah, you know everything. That’s great for you. Meanwhile, all I know is that my wife might have cancer. If that’s part of any freakin’ plan of yours, count me out. Skip me. I’ll pass.
God: I can’t do that.
Me: I know.
Follow-up post: Me, Emoting About My Wife.
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