Tired
Some days I just grow tired of the fight. I wonder why I’m fighting at all. I have no control; why don’t I just accept that? Something in my stubborn little head cannot accept that fact, no matter how many times God keeps thumping me in it.
“Hey, dumdum, LET GO.”
“No. I can do this.”
BONK.
“You wanna let go now?”
“No. I can do this.”
BONK.
“Seriously, have you got brain damage?”
“Um, I think I might.”
“Well, if not, you will.”
BONK.
(sigh)