Undone By Mercy

I realized something today. I’m letting other people and other things live my life for me. I’m not taking responsibility for my own actions and my own inactions. I’m praying, asking God for guidance, for aid, for purpose, for determination, and then I am turning languidly to the other side, and becoming angry because so and so did this. I am complaining about things I did to myself, things that fall under my jurisdiction. I am caught in a web of dishonesty, of failure, and of greed, and I built it myself. I built it around myself. God has been following me, the ever-diligent Father, cleaning up after me, rebuilding my bridges after I’ve burned them. Enough.
Once again, Matt Carter’s sermon proved so true. Just two days ago, I left church wondering how the message would be played out in my life. How God would use the recession in my life as a gift. And here it is. Here is rock bottom. And here is salvation. May my sins be revealed, may my slate be wiped clean. I’m done with complacency, with blaming others, with inaction. I am going to start living my life. Though the thought of it still seems a little overwhelming, I have unshakable trust in God. In His plan. I’ve always had that. What I didn’t have was the understanding that I, too, have a part in this. I can’t lie in my bed and expect my life to transform. I can’t openly deny the will of God and expect it to play out anyway. I’m simultaneously the car, the speedbump, and the road of my life.
Well I’m done. I’m doing this. So watch out.

Oh, Sweet, Sweet Lawds.

I am in shock.

I just went to go put something on my desk. After doing so, I walked into the bathroom. After standing back and doing Ye Olde 3-Point-Turn Do I Look Skinny Today? Maneuver, I approached the mirror. I was pleased to see my hair still looked good, despite sleeping on it and running about HEB like a crazy person for an hour or so. I then bent over, invading the mirror's personal space, looking for pimples, clogged pores, pock marks, little alien invaders, anything worth picking. I flipped my hair back to look at the right side of my face, and see a brown smear of chocolate on my face. My thoughts? What the hell? When did I eat chocolate? Ew, that's probably not chocolate. I probably got it on my face when I was making lunch. It's probably black bean juice that dried.

Wrong.

I licked my finger, and rubbed at the spot. It came off. Along with like 5 layers of my skin. I stood there, in shock, looking at this white circle on my forehead (which was now burning like a mother trucker), wondering: What. The. HELL? I then vaguely recalled hitting my face with the curling iron last night. It didn't even hurt when I did it. APPARENTLY my skin is different. Apparently MY skin needs 24 hours to develop into a peel-able scabby callousy patch of ugly.

I'm not sure you realize the stupidity of this situation: I burned my FACE. MY FACE. Fml. And apparently when you burn your face, it peels off. And takes your tan with it. So then you have a little circle of white, surrounded by a little bit of chocolatey/poop/dried black bean juice looking skin. Which makes you look like you have Face Herpes.

Fantastic.

Another Attempt at Relevancy

Do you know what I was wondering as I was driving down the highway today? No, not that my Snickers bar is inconveniently located in my purse but under my sunglasses case. Also not that the word "maniacal" has a REALLY weird spelling. These things are, of course, true; but they are not what I was thinking.

What I was thinking was this: What if I had road rage outside of my car the way I do in my car?? Take what happened to me on Friday: An old lady cut in front of me to get to the Express Lane at the supermarket. My real life reaction was: "Rude! Oh, wait, she's old. I should offer to help her. Or I could get distracted by these gum flavors...Pomagranate Twist? Could it be??!?" What if, instead of being borderline-helpful/ADD, I had reacted like I did today, when someone cut me off in a merge lane. That reaction yielded very un-ladylike and un-Christian-like behavior. Which I regret. (At least the only visible sign was my yelling mouth. I do not flip birds, as I hate birds and would not want to accidently throw up a gang sign that basically invited them to kill me.) That lead me to wondering why I would do these things in my car that I would never do in public/ to someone who could hear me. What kind of sick double standard is that? What is it about the car that makes it a conduit for rage and outlandish behavior? I get positively irate behind the wheel, but when someone cuts me off on campus or in the supermarket, I'm angry for a second and then move on. Is it because I see an annoying "BRTTNY" license plate and not the actual person?

I don't really have a conclusion or a solution for this... I will resolve to have a more Christian attitude on the road. So I guess that's something. But in the mean time, I'm still left wondering why this happens. And I know it's not just me. Or is it? Hey look over there! I thought I lost that list! That's crazy! Hey, look again! That magazine! I remember when I bought that one magazine with Angelina Jolie. She's too skinny. I also don't want her to adopt another baby. OMGosh there was the cutest baby EVER in Friday's today. Mmmmm. I wish I had more sweet potato fries. Those were yummy. I also need to stop eating so much. Dangit, Easter Bunny. You're responsible for this weight gain. You and my Meme. Why do some people spell it Mimi? That's weird.

No. No, I'm weird.

Because History? Is so Passé.

The following took place via text message in the middle of my biology class. Because apparently I'm not going to listen to any of my professors today. In any case; enjoy and revel in the nerdiness.

Me: Class is dumb. The End.
Rebekah: I agree. The End.
Me: My body hurts. The Middle.
Rebekah: My presentation is soon. The Beginning.
Me: That's awesome you can almost be relieved. The Prequel.
Rebekah: I love you. The Sequel.
Me: I love you too and we're awesome. The Trilogy.
Rebekah: I know haha. Have a lovely day. The Epilogue.
Me: Until we meet again. The Cliffhanger.
Rebekah: Hahahaha good one. The preface.
Me: Thank you. The Dedication.
Rebekah: "You're welcome," she said. The References.

What would I do without my friends???

In other recent news, I just found out this morning that a short film I had the blessing to be a part of has been nominated for a 2009 Remi Award at the Worldfest Houston International Film Festival. We don't know yet how our other film has fared, as the director told us nominations are still being made. In any case, I am so, so, so proud, ecstatic... speechless... I think I needed this little push to assure me that I am doing what God wants me to do and that even in my younger years, I had the gifts and resources to be recognized by the industry. If even in a small way. :) I'm so so so so soooooooooooooooooooo excited. I don't really know why. I just am. :)This could not have come at a better time. I'm sorry this post isn't entirely witty or sardonic or even delightfully melancholy. But I'm verklempt!

I'd like to thank the Academy...