XPost: alt.recovery.aa, alt.social-security-disability, uk.rec.psychic
I spent decades pursuing unreciprocated love. I may be a saint but I'm
still human. I have my limits. When I reached that limit I decided she
wasn't going to send me a kind word to the day she died. Then it was time
for paybacks. Her father may have molested her, but God would chasten her
in one of a couple of ways. She would be plagued with hardship and fight to survive or die defeated.
The sword of truth lacerates through all the bullshit to get to the crux of
the matter, but never really reaches that crux until all guilty parties are fallen down slain. It encounters some granite stones. The stones are catapulted towards a defended castle. The multitudes in purgatory flee from the danger. That's a good sign. Usually they are mindless zombies. Each
one has their identity back. Water pours in. The sun has the face of a child's cartoon. The sword is not invincible. But neither are its
opponents. They search the avalanche for survivors.
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