Does war never cease?

So, I’m mad at God. Because she says I must go to my next psychiatry appointment on Tuesday afternoon. It really never, never ends. She has some story about the angels and medicine. I suggested she think differently. She said no. I could complain to you loudly about my lack of money and my inability to go anywhere but I’m not going to. You know me, anyway. So, a woman who’s seen war. Not just a man who has been a soldier. Well every woman in the world that’s a decent human being has been in a war. Because those bad men insist on it, don’t they? And half the time no one talks to us and we’re left doing everything a man and a woman should do. So you already know it. What are you asking me for? Maybe you’re asking for release. Well, speak to the goddess. She says no to me, maybe you’ll have better luck with her than I do. I find it hard to be inspiring. So, help me. Oh, I know. Animals actually give punishment. Isn’t that grand? They go right into evil people’s heads and shriek and canter and walk about and flit their wings. They don’t mind. They are like our old demons in the world of hearing voices (in our heads and in our lives.) A peck, a kick, a nibble, a nudge. Maybe even a bite. So, whatever they do for us that’s delightful they also do for the bad ones that’s normal for them, but kind of hard to deal with on a very consistent basis. I grow weary. I really do. I guess I’m just grumpy right now because I thought I might possibly have an ending. A way out. But I do not. Not yet. And it is so hard to see and feel reunion. So hard to imagine that God will ever be done saving the world through my struggles. Did you ever feel that way? Or didn’t you know that your struggles meant anything to God? God is often backwards. She says things that drive me nuts. “You might have to.” Which means I always do. I say, “Just tell me Goddess.” And then she does. And it’s rarely pretty with her. Because she’s intent on perfect union. Which I can understand. But me? I prefer my own freedom. Help me, again. Okay, you say, “Relax, Beth. It has to end somewhere. For all of us. How much more can there really be to do?” Okay, my friend. But I’m protesting. Now I’m going to drink my tea and wait a little while and write you another post. I hate to leave us on a flat note. Washatu. Non.