
What is PTSDFBSA? It's post traumatic stress disorder from being shot at, that's what. I cannot imagine having to live under such stress day in and day out. It's enough to drive a woman to drink. Or commit suicide. Or sneak across enough borders until I reached someplace safe. Lord, where would that be in this world? Why don't we have Peace in this world of ours?
How can people who look so much alike, live alike, almost act alike, NOT live in Peace? They're cousins, for Christ's sake. They're like relatives who don't like each other because of an ancient feud. Like the Hatfields and McCoys. Can they hate each other so much they would all rather blow themselves off the face of the earth? They need a Dr. Phil. Hell! They make me nervous, and I live as far away from them as I can get. Oh, heck no. How many of them live here among us now? I can't tell one from another, so they could be getting ready to fight on American soil and . . . And, I would just be in the dark about who's the enemy.
When I shope at the Phonecian Market I look at all the lovely people and I cannot help but wonder. How can they live among the same people here in America, yet hate each other so much in another world? They wear the same clothes here that they wear there, and go about unmolested. They are the same as Americans. Some are nice, some aren't. Some are beautiful, some aren't. They are short, tall, thin, fat, sexy, not sexy . . . They all eat and drink the same foods. They all drive the same cars. None of the ever make eye contact with me, but the employees do. They make small talk. They flirt. Okay, two have. Some are rude. I asked for couscous and the young woman pointed away from the Israeli couscous. She wouldn't even look at me. She wouldn't even give me directions. She simply pointed. But she certainly talked to "the other shoppers." Poor thing. I had to wonder how she could be so rude to someone she didn't even know.
"The rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night . . ." America fought their brothers and cousins too, so we should know better by now, right? You'd think we could all learn from history. I don't pretend to understand how Hamas believes that rockets are the answer. I understand why Jews finally learned to fight. But I don't understand why cousins feel they have to fight each other. Why not work together for a stronger, better home? All these grown-assed men with beards are killing babies, babies' mamas, children, old people, innocents. Will y'all keep killing until there is no one left to kill? No one left to remember the killings? Y'all are so Godless. How can you sleep? I hope you catch a super bad case of PTSDFBSA and for shooting. Make that PTSDFSAP = post traumatic stress disorder for shooting at people. And for killing people! Let's call it PTSDFKP = post traumatic disorder for killing people.
I've bitten my nails so short . . . Why do I even care? If I keep this up I'll need a pill for PTSDFCATPKEO = post traumatic disorder from caring about those people who are killing each other. Whoa! Am missing a few letters, but you get what I mean. Now, spread THAT acronym. Maybe PEACE will come. PEACE = peace.
God is watching y'all. Just remember that. Oh. And WAR! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! And another thing? You can always talk your way out of anything. Including an ass whipping. I know for sure that you can. You need to talk? Call me. I'll answer. Just don't shoot any more. Okay?
Hamas? Send me you mail address. I'd visit but I'm recovering from an illness. Israel? You can write too. There are some things you need to do as well. Y'all make me anxious. Every time I turn on the news, pick up a paper, or even check out my favorite blogs, what I learn makes me anxious. My address is over on OWM. Y'all be well.