Me and God

I catch myself talking and praying to God as if He is an outsider or a psychotherapist with notepad in hand while I ramble away in a black leather chaise. As if He really has no idea of what I'm going through; as if He's never been in my shoes. I know I do this because I find myself getting frustrated in my futile attempt to explain to The Creator of The Universe exactly what it is that I need, want, or don't want. I hope He gets at least a grin out of it, I know I would.