Oh, dear God,

One word, STRESS. You know, which You do, way back stress was simpler. A bear chased you while picking berries. Stress was a run and done kind of thing, in one way or another. Today, stress is an all day event. Anxiety doesn’t stop at night while we’re safely tucked in bed behind locked doors and security cameras either (or a mouthy dog in my case).

You get up, go to work, deal with assh… lovely creatures who give you a glimpse of Hell for a paycheck. Most weeks you realize you’ll be fed, warm, and dry with a little cash leftover for a bottle of wine to enjoy as a treat not as a cure for stress.

Then the car breaks down, again. There’s no room in the budget for nectar of God as a treat or as a fake stress reliever and you find yourself praying for overtime. Come on, praying for Hell? Then my neighbor starts singing. Without the thought of impending or actual stress, I’d be happy to give up Your nectar and to drink more water, less headaches either way.

All I’m saying is maybe I’d be less stressed on forty acres growing potatoes and tending a few solar panels. A nice pond wouldn’t hurt either. I could sit on the dock with a fishing pole. If I caught a fish, hooray dinner! I’d have no need to go to Waldo Mart.

Have You checked that place out lately? STRESS. There’s too many people with carts, too much noise, and way too much merchandise that you’re made to believe you need. I’d rather deal with pesky flies while sitting on a quiet dock, hint, hint.

Even if my potato crop failed, I could probably not only survive but also thrive by picking berries in bear infested country. Run and done stress. I am a bit slower as I’ve aged. Do You think You could make the bear three legged and pluck out one of his eyes to give me a fair chance?

Hey, thanks for listening.