Rant: I'm mad at angels.

[oak]

Oh rivergirl, I’d never get mad at you.

In fact, I appreciate you and everyone who posts replies; they’re so kind and helpful in an otherwise cold and frequently cruel and indifferent world.

I like you guys as much as I don’t like angels!

[oak]

I still don’t like angels, and today as I was enjoying chicken tacos and tomatillo salsa after barre, I realized that angels can’t enjoy salsa. They get so much (flying, not getting sick or dying), but they don’t get salsa.

A related musing:

I forget which book/movie it came from, but last week I heard this idea of something like when people are in the Matrix, but better; all of their needs and wants are met, though it is a wholly simulated experience.

The idea is that one is put in a sort of suspended animation: my body would be prisoner in a vat, but my brain would be activated so all of my dreams would come true.

I’d never be sick or sad or have sleep apnea. I’d have plenty of friends around, amazing food, and no work. I’d never be lonely or grouchy or hurt. My brother wouldn’t be dead, the Yorkies wouldn’t have gotten old and sick and died. I could go on a date.

This would continue until my natural body dies.

If offered, would I take that, right this minute?

On Sunday, August 13, 12:19 pm Eastern, would I leave this actual life of sorrow, loneliness, anxiety, and trouble for a simulated world of happiness, belonging, and fun?

I don’t think I would.

I don’t say that to be cute or sarcastic or romantic. My life really sucks sometimes: I neither deny nor wallow in this fact.

But I don’t think running away is the answer either.

And I think that final clause is the key: lifelong.

If I could just rest, in such a simulacrum, for just two weeks I could come back as a new man.

I don’t want to escape my fate, I just need a little time to heal.