Day 142: It was the fish what done it

Ill tonight. Stomach is doing somersaults. Think I’ve eaten some dodgy food. Lying in the foetal position breathing slowly through my mouth while Fran watches The 100 on the computer, with the desk slid sideways and the TV twisted round so she can see it from bed. It’s loud; Fran can never hear the voices. “Can we just turn it up another two? I think the voices are especially quiet on this one.” The amount of programmes that have been mixed with voices especially quiet, you’d be amazed…

Fran eats breadsticks and Cheddars which she keeps calling Mini Cheddars to annoy me, and gets crumbs on the bed. They’re not Mini Cheddars. They’re just Cheddars, the big ones. I flick away crumbs, and we talk about God.

Fran: “Maybe we’re born an infinity number of times over and over but we forget every time and only God remembers, up there laughing at us.”

Me: “But is God born an infinity number of times? What’s he doing? What’s his deal?”

Fran: “No God is just watching it all.”

Me: “But I never get when they say that. God just is and that’s that. Why not just say we just are and that’s that? Why invent another layer of complexity? If you don’t know what God’s deal is then just admit you don’t know what our deal is and leave it there. It doesn’t explain a thing! It’s very--

Fran: “--Darling, shush.”

We stop talking about God.

I drift between asleep and awake and Fran makes a pizza and I try not to be sick. Fran draws a picture of us together and she shows me as I lie in bed. I’ve got a beard in the picture. She’s smooching me on the cheek.

Fran puts the picture down. I pat her hair and kiss her on the forehead, from my prone position wrapped in covers, like an infirm old priest. Just my luck if there was a God, and he was punishing me for not believing in him, although my money is on the dodgy fish.

Ahh, but who put the fish there?

God. OK. But who put God there? Who put him there? It doesn’t explain anything! It’s utterly superfluous! It’s already insane that all this is happening. Just leave it at that.

Fran can’t shush me on my own blog. I love having my own blog. I love not believing in God in a dumb way (I believe in us though. I do believe in us). I don’t love eating dodgy fish. But you can’t win them all.