God's math is poo × poo = woowoo voodoo

God is always making me do math. Like today I was bequeathed with the eternal quandary, “How do I pay for a twelve dollar ID when my boyfriend is making me buy fifteen dollars worth of weed?” The answer is you can't, no matter how fast or slow you go, or even if you double back to get more time to think, so I instead decided to correct some of my karma by tipping the remaining four dollars in change to the nice budtender that rang me up.

That's good, right? Yes and no, as God keeps pressing my awareness of superpositional logic. See, on the way back, I crossed paths with three homeless people. If I gave a dollar to everybody, everybody would be happy, but I didn't know I would see three other, more needy people. In this, God has tried teaching me to frontload this ish so I don't squander opportunities. It's a constant learn-unlearn-learn cycle as I ponder, in great sincerity, the plights of everyday man.

Ethics. I suppose I'm an expert. Not everybody spends this much time thinking about what is good, and what is bad. It should be noted that I started this thinking of kingly qualities quest because I was once shit. Now look where I am! I'm still the same decaying organic matter as all around me, but I’m significantly more pleasant to smell dooky. I did that! Well, God did, I just did all the walking, except when I was carried.

Sigh…I'm so good I can't even gloat like the bonafide jackass that I'm supposed to be for the cameras. No seriously, when I was leaving the dispensary today, after tipping the man, I hear something behind my back about “hard R,” and it's just like…I can't judge that customer for judging me because I have transcended my past, where I thought I was a cop (I know now), and even way back when I was thinking the real final solution was, “No men, no problem,” in regards to why Earth is fucking dying underneath our boots.