Are we stuck in a chapter where the plotline is spiralling out of control? I find myself flipping the pages of life as fast as I can, skimming over the naughty bits and forgetting the characters. How I long to glimpse the divine narrative, surely buried somewhere in this morass of soul-sucking pandemic reruns. I squint wearily, looking for a bigger story to be reflected in two years of tedium, punctuated by whiplash crises that, while hinting at a climax, are really only extraordinarily ordinary.
I am ready for the plot twist, Lord.