I'm so sick of it here. The same smell is making me gag and everytime I fall asleep, I don't want to wake back up.

Every night I would have a conversation with God.  He would come over, quarter past seven, and crawl through my window.  Then we would sit down on these cheap aluminum chairs around this old wooden table.  He would pull out a stack of cards and shuffle them, over and over again.  We would discuss anything, over a game of cards and a drink.  And after a drink or two you could get him to talk about anything.  One night he told me about how he would sit around and watch the people on earth have sex.  "You're like porn," he said, "a quick fix for all the broken relationships in heaven."  I told him I thought sex was supposed to be an act of love and how a couple can have children, how we reproduce.

"I thought you were smarter than that," he screamed, "I'm God!  I made everything as it was yesterday, is today and will be tomorrow!  I could have had you down there reproducing like flowers, spreading pollen around, but nobody likes watching flowers reproduce, now do they?"

At this point he was in a coughing fit from laughing and I would just shrug and pour him another drink.  God was a heavy drinker on weekends.  He also has shaky hands but you never hear anybody say, "Shaky hands are a sign of the gods."  

I have shaky hands.

I would always try and grab his words while he was in mid-sentence.  Then I would try to understand his meaning but I find all I can really do is shrug and pour, shrug and pour.  "It is what you're supposed to do," he says.  He talks and I listen.  Sometimes I ask and he answers.  He knows I don't like his answers, he doesn't really care.  He likes to be the one in control.  He says he'll always be the one in control.  No matter what.

He likes to tell me about how he loves to play war games.  He says the logic in it is fun.  "Planning then attacking, for me," he says, "it holds days of entertainment."  I told him war wasn't a game on earth and it wasn't something fun at all.  He laughed.

"Of course it's not funny to you.  People die in wars," he said, "nobody likes to hear about people dying and if they do, they dish out sympathy.  Death is cliche.  As is the human race."

He yawned.

He also has this thing with churches.  He thinks they're hilarious too.  I asked him why he thought a place where people worship him and his son is even being considered funny.

Whenever a question like this came up he'd give me a drunken giggle and say something like, "Full house."  Then I'd tell him we're playing go-fish and he would hit my hand, jump up and scream, "SLAP JACK!"  I think God has that attention disorder and that's why he can't keep his mind on one thing more than one time.

I remember something God once told me, "Sleep is just a preview of death and you know how much people love to sleep right?" I think it was him. Or maybe it was just me talking to myself again.  

It's not talking to yourself if you do it in silence, right?

Good.