Amen!
This is the default reply, ingrained from years of going to church, that even now I find I just barely catch myself uttering it.
So, why say it? Because it’s easier to let the other party assume we share a faith since they’ll leave me alone sooner.
What God?
I’m more likely to say this now, with a smirk and a wink. Depending on the person who asked, I may say it to get a rise out of them.
Sometimes, I’ll be asked why I don’t believe in God. Sometimes, I’ll get into the weeds of why. Other times, I’ll say I still do but lost my faith. As above, I’m sooner left alone, but with a pitying look and an obligatory “I’ll pray for you”, or something along that line, said out loud or in their hearts.
Why?
As above, getting a rise out of someone, but with a dash of bile. These are the days I don’t care enough to be polite.
Shut the fuck up.
I talk to myself often, so much so it’s visible, a running commentary both inside and outside my head. The person I think I am, the person I am when I’m doing this is a whip-smart suave and confident motherfucker who lives life with his balls out. His real-life counterpart, much less so.
I itch thinking about deploying this rude refrain, hurling this grenade into the comfortable garden the pious have built, where they are rarely openly challenged, just for the sheer delight of seeing the horror on their faces. A guy can dream.
Silence
Marundu 