ugly synonyms

I'm not very spiritual. Those who know me know this about me. Hell I don't even believe in karma. The thing is, I probably can't really believe in anything quite hard enough to be spiritual, as though I lacked the capacity to put that much faith into anything. But that being said, greater forces must be at work here, in the ever constant cycle of failure that is my sack of shit of a life. I think God must be punishing me. I don't know why. If He exists, He ought to know I'm good, He must. I've always tried to do right by Him. Maybe not Him necessarily, but by others, by people. It doesn't take a God to know what's right. God knows He didn't invent It.

But there are moments I know when I do wrong. And maybe that feeling in the pit of my stomach is guilt, the bane of all good churchgoing Catholics, paving way to our sacred traditions and practices of forgiveness and atonement. I say "our" ironically here, being that I was brought up Catholic, but now am no longer adhering to its set of beliefs. In any case, today, there was guilt there, in the lining between my stomach and abdomen, right alongside the layers of fat and cell walls and muscle tissue. I do things out of anger at times when I know I shouldn't, and almost always it results in someone getting hurt that didn't deserve it. Why I can't ever muster this anger in situations where someone who did deserve it would receive the blunt end of my fury, I don't know. Shit's just fucking lame that way, I guess.

So it must be due karma then that this act of wrongdoing I committed would result in such an unusual form of punishment this evening. I didn't know such baseless insipid words (which conveniently were meant to be taken with no offense) from such an ill-informed girl could surreptitiously faze me so deeply, shake me at my very core and lead me to question a part of my identity that has long since solidified since the darker days of my angst-ridden adolescence. And holy shit, the fact that I'm writing about it now further attests its hold on me, its lingering effect in my circulatory system, like I'd just ingested poison. I've been jerked around for the past week or so by this bitch, and not in the good way, only for it to lead to this.

And like the Good Book, this bullshit is full of plot holes and mysteries; mixed messages, contradictions and the ever present douchebaggery seeping out of the the unholy vag and mouths of the not so fairer sex. What lesson should I be getting out of this? That I should just be an asshole? It's clear to me now more than ever that being nice and polite doesn't get me laid, so maybe it's finally time to convert, like the hapless twats that bought into the preachings and gospels of the Lord. And I should be bitter, as bitter as how Siddhartha tasted the vinegar that represents the world. Because apparently there is such a thing as too sweet, sweet like I've always tried to be, how Lao Tzu tasted that same goddamn vat of vinegar.

And all of this comes back to this idea I have that pretty much sums up the complexities and inequities and the lack of titties in my sack of shit of a life: I am a square peg in a round hole. Oh yes indeed. I've jammed myself good up in this motherfucker, and it's a tight squeeze, clenched so shut and tight, the anuses of the various gods of Hinduism themselves would look down upon me with the brown-eyed envy of a thousand suns. But simultaneously, they pity me, because they know I can't be saved. Not even if I wasn't such a Nancy non-believer.