Gods love.

I’ve lived in all fifty states. Couple dozen countries. Some continents. It’s weird to hear, “You have no experience.” Just, that relationship inside the current job market where someone, anyone really. Is left to prepare for the future or the grim looking present. I have no experience.

My whole life, is an experience.

No. I didn’t sit there and push a mop for three years and smile at management as they enjoyed their government bailouts from the last recession. No. I didn’t sit there on graveyard shifts nodding at a company’s awful Phoenix customers for years. Only to, one day become manager and receive a fifty cent raise.

I sat through almost two dozen interviews. Waiting in offices. Trying to be my most authentic self. This, is what you get for the price you’re paying. The real me. I like the pretend me too. You or I can’t afford him so, let’s not talk about that. No. No no no. I’m going to be me. I’m not going to indoctrinate into your office culture of rampant consumerism. Did I go to the trendy bar in Old Scottsdale? The one with the neon and “hot bartenders”? No. I should go? Yeah. Don’t should me.

I had a finished life. It was completed in January. Close the book and bury me with my heart attack. Burn me. Who cares? I’m dead. The crazy thing about medical. It happened, it will happen again. It will kill me one day. Next month. Ten years. Who cares? I should be depressed. I should get a fast car and buy buy buy. Is that what God wants?

It really didn’t seem that way sitting in the cheapest hospital above the Mexico border. A guy in the hospital bed next to me pacing and watching political conspiracies. Yelling at a fictional narrator his opinion. Coming down from something? Maybe. Then, the lady next to him wants to see every supervisor for her mistreatment. She was injured, head trauma and wants to start a lawsuit from her hospital bed. She nudges her nurse to dictate who I think, misses a vein on purpose. God? Wanted this for me? To not miss this?

I think, we put way to much effort to appreciate God. The biggest shrines. The most gold. Then, the most-est gold. As if, to pay for our purity by the best things men can make. If I was God I’d be like:

Who the f— do you think you are?

Me, as God

See. Humans. Also, have no experience. We have 60-80 years to create some before dying but, that’s it. We like learning first-hand. We try to develop a marketable skill. God always seems to love those that have the most. Even Mother Theresa had a private plane.

If I had experience, why would I work there? Why would I not be like others that gained the experience and bounced. They didn’t need your job either that’s why you need another worker. Now. You want to be picky? I have sixty or so years mopping floors. How about that?

You are not gods. Neither, am I. We are just two humans in an Arizona desert. That don’t mean much to maybe half a dozen people, at most.