Oh, I have moments of extreme relief. Like when I see a school bus go by. That was me, back in 2001, driving a short bus in Gresham, Oregon. Or whenever I sew on a button or mend a hem. I used to sew clothes for a living, a strangely self-mutilating form of personal hell. I guess you could call the relief I feel at not having to sew or drive a school bus gratitude.
Gratitude implies there is something to be grateful to about the things I am grateful for. Presumably something like God? After so many years living with a nihilist, I'm reluctant to approach the idea of God. As a survivor of Twelve Step programs, I wrestle with the concept of a higher power, that is, a power greater than myself. A power that can help me guide the short bus in the rain and snow without losing a passenger or running over a pedestrian. A power that can help me avoid sewing through my finger. Or strangling my customers. (I think another page called Custom Sewing Hell might be in order. I'm feeling a lot of repressed rage.)
I don't believe there is something guiding me or planning my life for me, like a great big Franklin Planner in the sky. I think I have free will. Except when I'm watching episodes of True Blood or reading the Betsy the Vampire Queen books. Then I'm a slavering compulsive addict. But usually I opt to believe I have free will.
Which I generally use to turn my back on the idea of a higher power. I simply refuse to participate, thereby leaving God no one to engage with. And me with no one to blame for this thing I call life.
