Which is it, is man one of God’s blunders or is God one of man’s?
I wonder about the meaning of god.
No, not the religion of him, but of him. Whether he actually knows what we are thinking, doing. If he actually cares for us or left us ages ago. If he loves us out of commission or hates us out of ommission. If he actually exists or he is simply a long-standing image from our mind that stubbornly refuses to leave.
In front of me, I have six dice, four 20-sided, one 12-sided, another eight-sided. I jumble them in my hand, scrambling them for the toss. And I do toss them, in front of me on the surface of the desk. They always come up differently. No two combinations of them alike, if ever, for all I’ve seen. I wonder if life is like that: factors blindly shuffling through each person, no two exactly the same, for even if you have a set of twins (or triplets or quadruplets, etc.), the factors shall be ever so apart, each one depicting those lives in a subtle echo of the other.
Sometimes I feel like just leaving everything behind and leaving this place. But then, that would leave all my belongings behind, and I’d rather not leave my stuff to the hands of my family, who will claim mostly everything, especially the computer and my books. However, I’m getting sick of this place, and thinking of getting my summer to a trip to San Antonio for the summer long. Time enough, I feel, for me to A) get my bearings together, B) see if I can really make it on my own, and C) see if I can absorb as much atmosphere as possible. The only problem is getting enough money for a bus trip and a couple days of prepping (for job/apartment hunting). Now I know the problems I have, but that really doesn’t matter to me, does it? If any suggestions, let me know, k? *hugs*
Enough gothness for one hour. Let’s get this over with and wish you a good night. Laters!