If you take a bottle and put it one the floor and give it a violet twist of the wrist, it goes so fast, it jumps and skids across the floor. No path. No sense, just an uncontrollable missile. And you're not allowed to stop it . . It's a sort of vicious game that compels you to wait until it finishes on it's own.
I don't know why I can't. I don't understand that rule . . but I can't ignore it.
And when it finally stops, it hasn't got time to quell the vertigo that the whole trip has caused. It just braces itself for the next hand to start it twirling again.
That is my life.
My prayers are: "God! I'm begging You . . please don't", "Please make me strong enough to bear it", "Please blind me to what You need to do to work Your plan . . because I can't bear watching this anymore."
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