Don’t Touch that Dial

One of the things the religious are fond of telling us is that God has a plan. The things in our lives happen for a reason. Of course they also tell us that the horrible litany of things that the Bible chronicles happening to Job were simply for the reason that God didn’t have the strength of will to ignore Satan’s tauntings. When it comes down to it, a lot of religious folk really do have a pretty pitiful image of God.

Anyway back to the “you planned this?” notion of life the universe and everything. I’m moving again. I haven’t actually finished moving to Portland yet. Most of my stuff is in storage in Thousand Oaks, I haven’t actually gotten my house onto the market yet, let alone sold it, and I haven’t finished reading my Portland guide books, let alone gone out and experienced the cool places they’ve told me about. I did get to one of those places this week, a hole-in-the-wall donut shop downtown, but I don’t really have a lot to say about it other than bacon actually does go amazingly well on a maple bar. I didn’t think to ask if it was maple-cured bacon or not.

But back to moving. Again. And to God’s plan. I asked her what was up with the new new job having taking almost four months to get back to me. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just contact me back when I applied and save me having to move to Portland in the first place. She reminded me that she doesn’t do detailed planning most of the time. She explained again that she likes to shake things up every once in a while but that she mostly just sits back and watches. The Earth, as I’ve said before, is God’s own sticom. Apparently the new idea for situational humor involves me riding on BART every day.

I suppose I should be glad. I mean, in most sitcoms when things start to get dull somebody ends up having a baby.

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