Here I am, again, sitting on the bathroom floor, with a broken razor in my hand. Just enough of the cheap, blue, disposable, razor has been chipped away so that the sharp corners are exposed, exposed only enough to make some small cuts into the skin on my wrist. “God what is wrong with me, why am I like this? This just isn't normal! AND I am a leader in a Church.” This was my conversation with God not very long ago. Yet again, I was having another attack of "whatever"! I have no idea what it is that comes at me and I have no idea why I go there or even how I started going there in the first place. I have no idea what to call this “attack” so out of pure frustration I called it “whatever”. Whatever it is or whatever it means or what causes it, I just don’t know but whatever it is it simply has to go. Even though it is “whatever” which sounds very blasé it is still a very real place that I find myself in from time to time. Oh, and yes, you did read correctly, I