Thursday, September 14, 2006

What now?

I wish I were in the middle of the ocean with a 450-pound Bengal tiger. Finished reading Life of Pi today and have allowed myself to wallow in self-pity for a bit, wishing myself anywhere but here, even on a lifeboat with no companion save a tiger who would probably eat me the first chance he got. Eating raw turtle couldn't possibly be worse... maybe my wish will be answered, hey, I'll be flying home soon. Life's problems are funny - not haha funny else they wouldn't be problems, but unexplainably funny. Weird funny. Annoying funny. Constant funny - not constantly funny. When I was in Malaysia I faced a certain set of problems, when I'm in London, the same, when I went to Japan - even though for only 3 weeks, for crying out loud! - I met the same problems there. I think the problem is me. Should I wish for God to wire me differently? I kind of like who I am; except for this nasty t-h-o-r-n. This thorn I have is so bad, I would happily tear mylimbs apart to free myself from it. A couple of bloodied pints lost will amount to nothing if I could rid myself from this sore. If I had a beak, I would tunnel my way through my own flesh until a gaping hole was permanent, to take hold of the thorn and fling it as far away as I can. If only I could be Prometheus, chained to a rock, having my torso torn apart and my liver eaten every day by vultures and eagles, if my thorn were in my liver. Unfortunately for Prometheus, his liver regrew every evening, to be torn apart and eaten again the next day. I just wish for my thorn to be eaten once. But that cannot be. Unless Frankenstein's monster came and plunged his hand into my ribs, pulling out my heart, I will never be rid of this thorn. Unless my brain went into a coma, even if my body were to shrivel and contort, my thorn will still haunt me. Oh, to be rid of it! The rawness of the wounds inflicted may be more than I can bear yet, Jesus says my grace is sufficient for you, my stength is made perfect in your weakness. Many times I have done a Catherine Tate, "Am I boverred!!??!!" to God only to have silence answer me. Then I answer myself, of course I am bothered. Doh. Part of the reason why my thorn taunts me so is because I AM bothered about what I do and say. If I really weren't bothered, stuff all, I'd do things my way. Anyway, I have to go off for Chinese now. Jo is waiting...

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