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You know, I really envy people with no sleep problems. There are people out there who have never abused illicit substances just to sleep. There are people out there who don't need Ambien, Ativan, Lunesta, Sonata. There are people out there who don't need Tylenol PM. There are people out there who don't need a cup of chamomile or chai. There are people who don't even take Ibuprofen for the placebo effect. Not all of them have clear consciousnesses. Some of them stole candy thirty years ago, some of them have ruined the lifelong dreams of others. I'm sure there are a few people that I, with my past and my empathy, would still find horrible. Muggers and murderers and rapists, people who sell the modern day Nile to the elderly, people who steal from the pregnant and dying. People who commit crimes against others who are so miserable, they're calling out for the eternal mother, even though their real mothers left them locked in an apartment, let their boyfriends run a train on them, fed them dogfood, or just gave them the babyboomer hands off childhood. I wonder, in my pantheon of mostly-believed in gods, who hears these cries? Kali? She blows both ways like the wind. She'll laugh and revel in the pain, and then suddenly be there in a dream, soothing black hands wiping sweat away. Of course I fall in love with the black goddess of creation and destruction. Sorry, Jesus, you're just too tame for me.