I’ve always been taught that God makes no mistakes. That whomever you are, whatever your condition, your lot in life, what you have, don’t have etc…this was all God’s plan. We were made in his image and therefore unmistakably perfect. Well, I just found one little flaw in this theory; an anatomical mistake that God, Allah, mother nature, the universe or whatever crap you believe in overlooked in the grand design of the human body.
But before I let you in on that little discovery, I need to back up a bit and give you some background so you can understand how I figured this out. If you know me… you know this, if you’ve read my blog… you know this, if neither of these apply to you, then I’ll just tell you: I’m crazy. Not the straight jacket, institutionalized kind of crazy. Not that I wouldn’t mind a few days in the mental ward, the rest alone would do me wonders. I’m quite jealous of celebrities that get to check into the hospital for “exhaustion.” How the fuck do you get to do that anyway? Do you think if I rolled myself into the ER and said, “Y’all! Check me in STAT- I’m exhausted!” that they would? As greedy as big medicine and insurance companies are, I think not. They’d probably tell me what I just tell myself all the time and probably what the celebrities need to be told as well, “If you’re tired, get some fucking rest.”
Its also not the doomsday prepper, Ruby Ridge, militia making, manifesto writing kind of crazy either. That is, unless you call this blog my manifesto. Perhaps it is, but I don’t think it quite measures up to all the great manifesto writers of our time like, I don’t know, Karl Marx or the Unibomber. With all the whining my “manifesto” is filled with about my folks divorce, alcoholism, the cult, laundry, the fucking elf on the shelf- I’m pretty sure the Unibomber would look down his hooded little, bespectacled nose at my manifesto in disgust. I mean really, I haven’t included any of the top manifesto topics like big government, conspiracy theories, the apocalypse, or how women should know their place. One more thing to add to my list of failures: poor manifesto writing.
Its my own special crazy or I guess just the regular kind- I don’t know… I’m not a psychiatrist, asshole. Yes, I know there are millions more like me out there- but can you just let me feel special about one fucking thing here? For the love of Pete, I’m asking for my own special kind of crazy- I don’t think anyone is going to wrestle me to the ground for the title of “craziest.” So get off my back already. I’m not going to share all the gory details but let’s just say, my crazy includes bouts of deep depression that I expertly hide behind a lot of smiles, jokes, sarcasm and general gaiety. I figure my “gift” is to use my misery to amuse others- done and done.
Anyhoo, being depressed is a pretty shitty place to be and I’ll try anything to get out of that black hole. I’ve tried all the “tips” they give on the good old world wide web for curing the blues- well and the ones they tell you not to do too…pills, drinking, drugs, holistic healing, sex, prayer, massage, yoga, exercise…you name it, I’ve done it.
Recently, I went for my second Qigong massage. If you’re not familiar- as I’m sure most of you are not- Qigong massage works with your meridian lines (whatever the fuck those are) through the use of pulsating acupuncture points and massage. It releases all negative energy from your body and the effects last for weeks. (I know it sounds like flake city- but it works, so you can go suck it.) The first time I did it, I was completely blown away. Its a powerfully emotional experience, most people will cry during the session and then boom- he somehow lifts all of that negativity away and you slip into an almost trance like relaxation. (again- I know its sounds like total bullshit- but you can, again, go suck it).
At my most recent session, as he gathered my negative energy I found myself literally crying right there on the massage parlour table. Tears were streaming down my face as he whispered in my ear and gathered the negative energy through the lightest of touches. And guess what, I figured out God’s anatomical mistake. When you’re laying down flat and crying, your tears stream directly into your ears. Its quite uncomfortable if you’re trying to achieve your zen like trance, because all you want to do is interrupt his magical massage and say, “Can you hold on a minute while I get the tears out of my ears?” So this time, I was so focused on the itchy, wetness in my ears that I couldn’t fully concentrate on the massage. Argh…I can’t do shit!
So there you have it. The big mistake is that your tears roll from your eyes directly into your ears. I know, when you read the title you were expecting something way deeper, way more controversial. But, what can I say? I still believe the spirit in the sky doesn’t make many mistakes- but I think I got him or her- its probably trans-gender- on this one.
BTW- just in case all that shit the cult teaches is real…big ups to God.