It used to be easy to believe in God. All I had to do was look up at the clouds drifting overhead or watch some amazing sunset and the whole idea of there being a God seemed self evident, though quite what I imagined God to be I’m not sure. When I was very young I used to imagine a benevolent old man with a white beard peering down on my every move below. As I grew older the gender issue kicked in. Did God have a penis? If so, why? If not, then how could God be considered male?

Quit calling my house, you fat tub of lard! We don't want to talk to you- or should I say LISTEN to you. I can't believe we're related. I'm actually blood connected to this schizophrenic creep who hops public transportation in the middle of the night because he's paranoid that there are feds watching him. Good Lord, will SOMEONE take him away? Bring him to a facility, I don't know! I'm just tired of hearing about my obese, slimy, dawdling uncle who needs this and that. Rent. Clean clothes. Cashews. I'll tell you what he needs. Liposuction and padded walls.

I waste time. It’s my least favorite thing about me. In surveys where they ask, if you could change something about yourself… Focus. I just get so distracted. If i believed in offsetting blame i’d point to my chemically maladjusted brains but i don’t.
It’s the phenomenon of the orange:

I see an orange. I think of the tree. The man who picked the orange. An old blue pickup. His family. Kids. A toy in dirt. Bare feet. Cacti. We’re in Mexico. I’ve never been to Mexico. Riots. Privilege. Calderon…

To infinity. A million of these continuing in all directions.