Bet you don’t know what a quoz is?
I’m a quoz.
An absurd person or thing.
All of which I am.
I am a woman. I am a mother.
I get PMS. Sue me.
Wikipedia tried to explain the Philosophy of Absurdism, or as I like to call it, Quozism.
It’s all about how I continue to search for meaning and fail.
My failure is through no fault of my own, but rather due to my brain’s inability to process the sheer volume of information and the unknown, making my constant investment of energy in it a total waste of time.
Actually, forget the universe, I am just trying to find some meaning in the daily accidents that are slowly rendering me a cripple.
- 1st car accident due to drunk man who took off his hand brake without starting his car
- 2nd car accident due to shiny, black Mercedes and a taxi
- Back injury resulting from the latter
- Dislocated toe due to unfortunate collision with couch
Some have said these things come in threes.
I’d like to point out that there are four of them.
Unless you are counting personal injury, in which case one is lurking around the corner.
I can’t see how I can avoid this fate.
In fact, if I stayed in bed the roof could fall down on me.
It probably would. To spite me.
Some have told me that the universe or God himself is sending me a message.
Well, the universe and God should know me better by now.
5 words or less in a very big font with a logo I can actually see and preferably a web address for more information.
Or Tweet me.
Expecting me to make sense of veiled and subtle communications is, quite literally, going to kill me.
I am a quot.
I cannot make sense of the divine approach to dialogue.
I can barely make sense of human dialogue.
But not a literal one.
This is me telling the universe to lay off.
Find someone your own size to pick on.