Sometimes… well all the time… I dream of vigilante justice. Just one day I want a few haters to come to my door. Bring it here. Just on that one day I want to resurrect those who are still alive. That is so wrong??? Yet the wicked skate and the just suffer more often from what I see. Few and far between are the moments of swift justice, or justice at all. Or maybe I just was never paying attention. You- if there is a you- could at least grant us thick skins we ask for. Or maybe this is just the burden I bare when there are so many worse out there. That’s why I am afraid to ask. If this is my cross I wear it proudly. I will leave it there. I say again if this is my cross I wear it proudly, and then you will just give me another to bear. Or maybe not. Grandpa is still kicking. My goodness, the time I waste trying to figure it out when it CAN’T BE. People come on and GET THE F*** UP.
