An atheist's Unspecified Winter Holiday wish.

Dear Nonexistent Being,

2009 has been a tough year for me. There's no real need to go into detail, because...well, you're not real. I'm writing this letter to myself, under the guise of putting out into the world whatever it is I wish to see happen in my life. Asking the cosmos for positive energy and a return of my good karma...or some other New Age hooey. I don't expect a damn thing. This is ultimately as much an exercise in futility as everything else I've written lately, but it didn't stop me before. Why should I let it now?

From the Buffet of Bad, the Smorgasbord of Suck that has been my life over the past eleven months, there were many one-star meals. Anxiety with a side of Depression, in a Failing Health Sauce. Crappy Work Situation Soup, topped with All I Can Afford to Eat are Crackers. Loneliness Loaf, alongside a delicious mash of Isolation. Is this metaphor dead yet? I could keep going. The point is... It'd be difficult for me to narrow down the single most stressful, annoying, or hopeless situation I've experienced in 2009. It all adds up to a year-long case of food poisoning. And because I haven't thrown up since I was 19, I certainly don't expect it to go away.

I would ask you, Nonexistent Being, for a little more optimism. But even if you obliged, that's not the kind of thing I can just pull out of my ass. I'm an empiricist. I need something more than abstract platitudes to reassure me that I won't be let down. Things aren't that bad? Everything will come together? Prove it. Give me something I can work with. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll change my tune. But if you continue to present to me a three-layer Crap Cake, I've got no choice but to partake, as I'm not yet ready to starve.

I would ask you for a miracle. But that's about as likely as me shitting rainbows without having eaten a box of Crayolas. Miracles are for people blind and/or delusional enough to think they see the Virgin Mary in a slice of toast or a potato chip. And fantasy writers. Neither of which I am.

Instead I ask you, you magnificently fake force of nature, for someone to simply take me as I am. The intensely lame buffet metaphor, my often misunderstood application of realism, and that I simply don't buy that that Jesus fellow walked on water. Oh, and the fact that I am not currently, and nor will I ever be, perfect. I am flawed. I struggle. I fail. And I don't have it all together. But I'm no less deserving than anyone else of a little hope, and maybe someday, a little love. I have, after all, been a very good little atheist this year. I promise I didn't pray! Not even once!

My greatest wish this Unspecified Winter Holiday season, Nonexistent Being, is to not feel so alone. When I feel like it's me against the world, I want someone to stand with me. Someone I can trust. I want someone to get it. Even if they have no words of wisdom. Even if they can't make it better. I'm missing that kindred. I'm missing that bond. But that's probably obvious, given the fact that I'm writing a letter to no one.

Please do your best to come through. You've had my allegiance for quite a while, but the Catholics are offering cookies and booze at their services now, and you know I can't resist a free snack.

Yours in Nothingness,
Heather

P.S. I'm aware that I've aired multiple grievances in this letter. I must inform you, however, that I commend you for not taking away my sense of humor. Kudos on one part of the job well-done.