Up until last week I was a playful agnostic.

On both sides of the fence when it came to the question of whether or not God exists, I was mostly just annoyed by people who took it upon themselves to convince me either way, and enjoyed goofing on them.

Last Monday, however, the University of Minnesota’s Student Unions account tweeted: “This week, we’re featuring food & giving out gift cards galore! RT this breakfast parfait from Gopher Express West to win $25! #UMNYum [licking lips emoji].”

This week, we're featuring food & giving out gift cards galore! RT this breakfast parfait from Gopher Express West to win $25! #UMNYum pic.twitter.com/aRoGuq0U1E

— Student Unions UofM (@umnSUA) April 24, 2017

The text of the tweet is not what disturbed me, but the picture attached, of a parfait tipped over with its contents spewing out onto the table, has haunted me ever since.

In my lifetime, I never thought I would lay witness to devastation on par with that of the ancient explosion of Mt Vesuvius in Pompeii. But there it was: a purple puddle of put-away parfait desires, with a handful of granola sprinkled on top, just screaming for me to help it.

But just like the volcanically-preserved corpses found millennia later in Pompeii, it was much too late to help the granola curds featured in that photograph.

Chaos — total and absolute. I wept in its face, for I knew that not only were the rules I had lived my life by moot, but the very idea of living life by any set of rules now seems foolish.

How was this ad made?

Did the parfait tip over accidentally? Did the photographer deliberately choose not to clean up the mess due to their lack of work ethic? Or did someone make the decision to leave it on its side — oozing and broken on purpose?

If the latter was the case, how did they convince everyone else involved in the project to just go along with it? This must have been a company made up entirely of the darkest of demons.

And if demons exist, must not there be a god for them to forsake?

Just two days ago, I went to a Dunn Bros in Roseville to have coffee with my mother. I thought I might have a pastry as well, but as I gazed into the display case, [1] As if that was supposed to make me want to eat the oatmeal. I could hear the soul of the universe cackle at me, and I knew then that I had only one option.

I ordered the oatmeal.

So yes, I guess you could say I’ve found God, but it may be more accurate to say He’s found me.

What will I see tipped over next in an advertisement? A can of Mountain Dew? A cauldron of forbidden coins? This, I do not know.

I simply wait with each breath ticking away at the countdown clock that point to my end.

Why would such an entity not tip over things of greater consequence, eventually? The economy, nuclear silos? Surely, those pushes will eventually come to shove.

A cruel god? I don’t know if I would say that. But a messy god? Most certainly so.