Eva Jackson: 0052

A letter to Dearlord

Dear lord, please help. I keep getting involved with men who do not understand satire. Lord, please make this stop.

Dear lord, this one time I went out with a man to a bar in a richly appointed hotel lobby, lord. In Colombo. We were sipping on some drinks, me on a coconut water and him on arrak, a fermented drink made from coconuts also. Lord, he took me to task for my facebook posts which seemed to bespeak a tragic sadness. Lord, I put my hand on his shoulder and said we all get a little sad sometimes and that some of those posts were not serious. I felt stronger and better than the previous night when my sadness had seemed twisted in his tipsy analysis.

Lord, another time I posted that I had been Cured by The Cure. My ex-boyfriend replied in an immediate concerned email to say that he hoped I would feel better soon.

Lord, I have been wooed by a man playing beautiful guitar in a crowded cafe on my birthday, and he chose the song Wild World, which we all know is about a guy saying how sad he is that a girl is leaving him, and that although she is basically a small child in his eyes albeit a sexy one, he hopes she enjoys her time out there. It is not a song about a guy wishing someone a happy birthday.

Lord, in an unconnected incident, I knew and loved a man who replied to Nigerian email scamsters advising them gently about practical ways to resolve their predicaments – ways which did not involve soliciting money from people over distances. I believe I have mentioned this to you before.

Some of these encounters have not been about love but still I think you should have some kind of explanation for them. Two weeks ago I took part in a dance class where the instructor afterwards recommended me a machine to reduce the fat around my middle. Why did he do this lord? And why do you allow telemarketers, who may have similar products, to exist? I am in danger of straying into a wider indignation here, oh my lord, and will really try to hold back and stay on message, because we started out talking about other things.

Lord, a little indignation goes a long way. And I feel better. But I would ask just one thing. Don’t cloud my eyes with hazy delusions again anytime soon. I do want to confine my relationships to ones with a healthy sense of irony. Your assistance in this long-term and very intensive exercise will be appreciated. I know you're with me on this one.