Dear Lawd Gawd,
Did I forget to greet you Happy New Year? Well, please kill me now, anyway. The energy is still chaotic. I’ve been praying the casting out stuff during this evening’s rosary prayers. I’ve sprinkled blessed rock salts into my mom’s freshly washed glass of water. And nothing seems to work. Or does it?
While you’ve learned not to speak of such phenomenon during your teenage years, I’m still struggling to control my hag’s stink face in public. Ultimately Mother got upset and thanked me for helping and released me from helping her and Father. Yup. I’m done being nice! Hiss.
Anyway, I’ve learned not to care. I’ve learned to not get startled from loud noises or feel pain from accidents. Compassion? Bah. It’s only in the head. Trust me. Mom said so. But I let her think she is correct.
And so, two days ago, Father smelled evil, a sulfuric odor that dwells on and about him. And he showered the following day. The twosome have triggered my anger as instigated by Dad upsetting Mom. (He’s been doing that for a long time and in the past few days.)
During the rosary prayers two days ago, I was seriously pissed-off. I’d pray at him while glaring at the Sacred Heart of Jesus image hanging over our sacred space. He’d wiggle and squirm in his seat and would take deep breaths. He does this every time he prays the rosary. Hah! I think he’s possessed. Or maybe he’s uncomfortable sitting down while praying. He still has a cold but tried to hide and deny. Hmm.
I’m just saying. It’s what I observe, though we’re taught not to judge others. But definitely, old-farts tend to be overly sensitive and freaking stubborn to the end. Sheets!