In order to assuage your suffering from Qualods, make sure that you tend to blame those closest to you for how you feel. It is their fault, after all.
If only they did what you hinted about, if only they were not self-centred, if only their lives revolved around you, if only they really loved you - properly… if only they were psychic.
This is such a natural way to feel – a lot of the time. Not always, but more than we would be wise to admit if we want to be prime minister, or married, or employed. We should be wary of those who are in denial about suffering.
Beware those happy-stick people with the weird smiles – especially it they are tee-total and vegan and doing worthy things for charity and go to ‘workshops’. You will often notice that they are either single - or they soon will be single - or married to someone just like them.
By the way qualids is a real word now -
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=qualods
Don't be worried. Life is over in the blink of an I... and our friends only remember U.S. for at most ten years, maybe less. So why worry, girl? This life is only a TEST to see whether you want the BEST. Heaven. Upstairs, up o'thar, life is at a standstill for eternity: you 17, me 21, and the time it takes for a smallish atom to encircle the universe, is how long God has for us times all the atoms. Eternity, miss gorgeous. Lissen and learn sumtin, will ya? --- After my wearysome, lifelong demise, here's my fantasy in Heaven, which you may or may not wanna take part in (totally up to you): to love as I undauntedly, unrestrained wanna be loved. GO NO FURTHER, GIRL, UNLESS YOU HAVE MANY BAWLS IN CRANIUM. Ponder sex in Heaven; ponder love make'n for the whole length and breadth of forever... slow, soft, and smooth... interspersed with delicious-N-nutritious Pi. Centillions of delight. Howsabout a big, yummy O for days, or months, or years... sighing, sobbing, screeem'n bloody murder... is definitely allowed in the realm where the 72ish degree sun never sleeps. Almighty God wouldn't create Heaven without passion and joy forever. No, you don't gotta with me, you don't gotta with anyone. Only an option for those who wanna make physical love a part of their eternity. Just imagine, girl: twenty-two? a hundred and one? fifty-five thousand? handsome, tall, muscular, gentle guys love'n you alone + 111 years + nude swimming in the shallow ocean + nude floating in the sky + erotic, bedtime stories at dusk + whatever your precociously, precarious precious heart comes-up with. Mama mia. The sky's the limit, babe. BUT, YET, YA MUST GIT-UP THAR FIRST. You must see the need for repentance in this finite existence (I go every month). Why not? Why wouldn't Almighty God allow that super-freeek'n-dooper, glorious high for 7 months or 77 months? Why wouldn't God allow His creatures to love one another? Do we gotta sit stupified for all eternity twiddling our thumbs singing tired, ol psalms? I doubt it; I'd rather 'Git-it-on' as the UFC announcer sez... then goto Mass on Sundays. See? Heaven ain't as boring or tasteless as you thot, doll; God loves you and God wants to provide the very best for you for eternity. I want Heaven, too, to love you, serve you, honor you, nekk and cherish you forever. For those few who actually achieve the Great Beyond these days? God sez, 'Eye has not seen...' You cannot stay here, girl: all of U.S. must croak someday. So decide if this whorizontal, finite existence is worth the slow, unraveling, unending joy of Heaven. God bless you --- Meet me in Heaven. You won't be disappointed.
ReplyDeleteCan you take that out? Only wanna write to women. Thanx. Maybe you can git some ideas about how to achieve Heaven, too, but not through our penMANship. God bless you.
ReplyDelete