Monday, July 1, 2013

The Book of Job

I haven’t been feeling well these past few days.  Bearing these ills with patience and longsuffering, wretch that I am, is no easy task.  I’m not looking for sympathy, just an ear.  Why has food become such an enemy?  I don’t deserve to be obese and have type 2 diabetes.  Anyway, I’ve run out of insulin and the pharmacy won’t be open until Monday.  My liquor cabinet has been empty for days and I don’t have money to restock it because I basically torpedoed my family's financial security at the casino last Thursday.  Worst of all, my meth lab exploded yesterday and ruined the entire basement.  Fortunately the wife and kids were out of town at the time, as I had sent them to my parents' house with explicit instructions on how to play on their guilt for some cash.  To add insult to injury, the strip club down the street closed down.  That was my only recreation in life.  Really?  Am I really reduced to looking up call girls in my little black book?  Yes, unfortunately.  It's not easy to endure this suffering with a quiet heart.  I cry out to you, O Lord, but you do not answer me.  Oh well.  At least I haven’t broken out in boils from head to foot.