The curse of Job

Well, I think maybe I should stop reading Job. I started to read it on the advice of one of the elders, the one whose name I can't pronounce so I call him Mi Hermanito Burrito. Not to his face, but in my head. So I started reading it and found that sooooo many things Job was thinking and saying, I've said. Not so Jewishly, but the essentials are the same. And I was thinking, wow, I'm so glad my animals and family weren't killed and I don't have boils. Then I woke up this morning and noticed my face was trying very hard to look like I was going through puberty again. And puberty acne is about as close to boils as I can get. Then this evening my younger sister called and said her puppy was electrocuted and killed. Praise the heavens they weren't in the house, so their lives were saved, but the poor puppy. Bad enough that he died, but his last few minutes were spent in terror. How horrible is that! I don't like having this greater appreciation of Job. I liked the bliss of ignorance. This may sound blasphemous, but after everything that has been happening in the past few months, most especially in the past week and 2 days, I better have a big old fat few months of astonishing blessings coming my way rather soon. Well, I better go check the cibatta bread I just pulled out of the oven. I added a tablespoon of honey to the recipe to see if it makes the bread sweater. With my luck, it probably caused some horrible festering creature to grow and as soon as I cut it open, it will fly out and suck my eyeballs out. Sounds like a 1960s horror movie. Tomorrow better be a good day. I have people coming over for dinner.