I say “Universe” instead of “God” because I’m not crazy about the G-word. It’s rather limiting. (So is the…er….G-spot. Still searching for mine) But still. You , Universe, and I need to have a conversation. Don’t worry. I’m not breaking up with you…exactly.
I do need to tell you…Universe, it’s not me. It’s you. It really is. You are the problem. Everyone tells me “Don’t worry so much. Don’t try to find love. Don’t think about finding anyone. When you least expect it, The Universe will provide.”
Who made up these rules? It was the guys who penned the Constitution, wasn’t it? I knew it! I blame them for massive consumerism, bad traffic, and, well, freedom. (One of those isn’t bad). I’ll now blame them for my lack of love life.
I’ve been quiet about this. Trying not to complain. Trying to Be Strong and Independent. Trying to Be Busy and Fulfilled. But sometimes, Universe, I want to smack your face. You heard me. Me. Your face. General smacking.
Why. Why does good love happen to bad people? That’s what I want to know. I try to be a good person, I really do. A caring, sensitive, decent person, and if it’s the extra 7 pounds I’ve gained since December…well I blame you for that too because YOU’RE the one that broke my foot. Figuratively. I fell down the stairs. But I’m certain you were to blame for it somehow because Everything Happens For a Reason.
I’m so mad I’m going to start swearing like a stereotypical English chick.
Universe…I smite thee.
I don’t know what that means, but it feels good to say it.
See my fist? I’m raising it in the air and gently extending my middle finger. That’s for you, baby. That’s. For. You.
Sincerely and with love and affection,