A Talk with God

God? Hello? Hell-ooo! We have to have a talk, God. It's about money. Are you there? Silence. The silence of a drawn breath, the deep silence before an explosion of outroarious laughter. "You have money". He's chuckling. Oh, you smarmy bastard, I am so glad to bring some humor into your life. God, I have seven dollars and fifty three cents. No, I had seven dollars and fifty three cents until yesterday. Now I have five dollars and fifty three cents. More silence. I hate this waiting game. "What did you spend your money on?" What did I?--I bought a good cup of coffee! A bad cup of coffee costs a dollar seven. I wanted a good cup of coffee, so I had to pay extra. Silence. Coffee's not cheap, you know. Waiting. "You have plenty of money." I do not have plenty of money. I have--going through my pockets--five ones, a quarter, three dimes, a nickel and four pennies. Let's see that's five dollars and fifty, no---. Oh. I have more than I thought. I have five dollars and sixty four cents. That's all. "Seems like a lot." Seems like a lot? It's. Not. Alot, God. It's a lot of nothing. "You have more money, what about your tin. You have three hundred dollars in your tin. That's a lot." That's rent money! I am outraged. For next month! That's already spent! Waiting. "What did you have for dinner last night? Did you go to bed hungry, again?" The word 'again' is slimed over with sarcasm. You --- bastard. Don't pull this starving kids in Darfur bullshit on me. I went through that with the Ethiopian thing. I am broke. I need money. "What about the other tin?" Those are my laundry quarters. Those. Are. My. Lauuunn-dryy quarters. For doing laundry. That's what they are for. Laundry. I have to have clean clothes. "You have to -- Oh that's a good one--clean clothes. You, the biggest PIG since Porky, actually care about your appearance?" A Pig? Did he just call me a PIG? I'm not a Pig, I'm a damn good writer. I write. I'm busy writing. I write all the time. I get distracted, that's all. Well, OK-- So what if I am a PIG. I'm a damn good writing PIG. I am a broke Pig. I hope you are happy, you -- bastard. Silence. I look around at my pigsty. He's right, you know, maybe if I cleaned this dump up, money would come visit me more often. I need help. I need a helper. Quiet. I look at the missing, the chewing yearning inside of myself. The empty. The need and the deep empty. God, I'm lonely. I'm so, so lonely. Silence. God? Hello?