FML

It goes without saying that I'm fucked on some kind of deeper cosmic level. In earth terms, I have absolutely no regard for human life, my human life. Every four or five days or so I go and fuck it all up. I almost made it out the door with my little, "in case of emergency" bag with helpful things in it but I decided to have a snack before I made my escape. The escape I was trying to make from the snack. I had a snack on the way out, trying to make an escape from the snack. This, dear people, is like stopping to play with a bottle of lighter fluid when you're trying to escape when your house is on fire. I was fine yesterday. I was fine today. And then I talked to my dad. I cannot blame this on my dad. I cannot blame this entirely on my dad. I cannot blame this on Knox. I cannot blame this on God. I can only blame this on myself, on my own weak will, on my penchant for death.

This is not Joy writing. I do not know who this is. This is some other entity which has over taken the body of Joy. This is someone masquerading as Joy. This is someone thinking the thoughts it thinks Joy would think if she was having a bad day and ate all the granola and then puked. Joy at least would have better things to binge on than cottage cheese and fucking granola.

I half wonder if we are all really angels but we contract with God to come into these human bodies, not to make the world a better place, or to experience corporeal life, but rather to experience pain. You gotta think that being an angel is great except you just can't ever feel anything, and that probably gets boring, so God let's the angels down into earth bodies for like a pain vacation because angels really miss pain when they're in heaven, but oh wow can you get a lot of pain here on earth and let me tell you, I'm really enjoying this.

Not Joy, but the psuedo bullshit angel entity that get's off on gross fucking things like eating all the food and then puking. JFC, if maybe I can really just wrap my head around how fucking gross that is for a second. Maybe then I wold stop doing it. Maybe if every body fucking new about it then maybe I'd stop. Well, here I am being all honest and shit for my audience of zero and it just fucking doesn't matter.

At this moment I don't know what matters. I can go sit placidly and play the four to eight chords I know how to play on the piano in a rhythmic sequence and pretend I'm playing a song. I could read a book of verses or other inspirational who-haw.

I honestly don't know what the fucking point is to anyfuckingthing right now. God, please let my life start to make sense soon. Please stop letting me hurt myself. Please remove my supposed free will that supposedly gets me into this mess, or rebuke and expel whatever demons or ghosts or angels that may be occupying my body for shits and giggles. Or tears. Whatever. Amen.