God, Shmod

I'm getting a little tired of everyone talking about this guy named God. (I know--some people, usually lesbians, insist he's a gal.) It seems to me that with all our incredible technological advances that allow us to send cameras up into space that can take pictures of the fungus growing underneath your toenail from light years away, that someone--sometime, somehow-- would have snapped a picture of God while he was busy "saving" them.

Now don't get me wrong: I am not an atheist-- not that there's anything wrong with that. I do believe in a Greater Power, or else how could there be so many different flowers and bugs and body parts, but I'm just saying I don't think that he/she/it hears our prayers and brings us to live with him up in the clouds just because we're nice to people or give to charity or go to church every Sunday or say we believe in him on our death beds, or even our regular beds. As for his son Jesus-- don't get me started.

I write this sober stuff because around my house all Humor is gone, having packed up and moved out while my husband was at the hospital having shoulder surgery ten days ago, and taking my Muse with it so I'm not painting either. What I am doing is hauling in bags of ice from the supermarket for my husband's ice machine and watching him suffer, not always in silence. By all reports he'll be better in about six months, so I should be funny again by next February, just in time to mock Valentine's Day.