Today was a perfectly fine morning until I dared, in my blatant and flagrant stupidity, to touch a dish in the kitchen. God gave me a foul look and explained that I was not to touch his eternally soaking dishes, the ones he does not take OUT of the soaking water EVER. It’s only been 2 weeks since God took over the kitchen, laundry and dishes, but he has finally divulged why he has had to take over things: “YOU DON’T GET THEM CLEAN.”
God, on the other hand, does not eat meals, does not put away whatever salty and fatty food he has cooked, does not put the lid on the open cat food cans he opens, doesn’t put dishes in the drainer( OK so I saw him do it ONCE) and apparently believes that my using the sink or kitchen at all is “Not letting me do my dishes.” My terrible cleaning incompetence and bacterial failure notwithstanding has somehow been good enough for God to lean on and not lift a finger for 28 years, though God has inquired periodically if I actually use soap when doing the laundry before.
God’s idea of laundry is heavy loads on hot soaked in original Blue Tide. Nothing else but the strong and unmistakable chemically toxic scent of Tide, a planet killer, will do. God has suddenly become concerned with water conservation, another horrifying failure of mine, according to God. But then God tends to believe I’m shit at everything, unless he’s about to become homeless. Then God is kind of soft on my crimes and ubiquitously glaring defects of character, until I let him get settled in and complacent again.
God has taken to forbidding me to dump vacuum dust and cat hair over the fence, or organic carrot pulp, or cat box pee divots. God does not believe in sustainability and the efficacy of compost, rotting organic matter and the way it feeds both the soil and rodents, like mice which our cats like to hunt and eat. God has now switched his divine will from hating and wanting to shoot the raccoons who live under the empty mobile home next to us, to wanting to feed them his cheese scraps and wasted wet cat food. Never mind that setting out wet catfood close to where we feed the feral cats on our porch may in fact give a wrong message like “COME and GET it- we love you as much as we love these cats we overfeed!”
God is not big on allowing me to have my say on anything. He likes to have a tantrum to get his way, forget about whatever agenda he has, then get mad because he’s got some new one he’s never bothered to inform me or the world at large about. I’m about to find out how to evict God. I’m tired of his hateful, miserable, disrespectful, delusional dope fiend ass.