Allow me to whine for a minute.
I am so cold. I had to put a hoodie and jeans on over my pajamas because I couldn't stop shivering. That is so unlike me and I DO NOT LIKE IT. I'd rather be hot and sweating and sitting in front of my fan than this. MAKE IT STOP.
I am so behind on my school work. I have six hundred thousand things to get done, all in a very short window of time, and I can't get any of them done because all I want to do is sleep. I've taken a several hours long nap every afternoon this week and yet I have no trouble getting to sleep at night. This is not okay and is making me stress out about my work.
I have a two-page paper due tomorrow at 2:00 and I haven't even started the research for it, and I don't want to even though I have to because all I want to do is climb in my big warm bed and sleep some more. But I know I need to do it now because as much as I don't want to do it now, I'll want to do it even less tomorrow when I will have the opportunity to sleep in because my morning class is canceled, butt I just don't want to write! You'd think having a giant term project due at the end of the semester would be enough, but no, the man decides to give us 10 2-page papers to write, one each week in 2 5-week blocks, throughout the semester, too. I love Dr. Mero, but this method is aggravating. Remind me why I'm signing up for another one of his classes next semester? Oh yeah, because he asked me to and I just can't say no to people.
Whine whine whine whine whine.
Okay, whining over.
Because I have to balance out all my pitiful whining and ranting with something positive, let's talk about some happy stuff now.
I only had one class today, and it was actually entertaining enough to keep me awake.
Over the past few days, I have been emailing back and forth with this guy. It's kind of random, but my friend Clint retweeted someone else's tweet on Twitter, and that had a link to this blog. On this blog was a guy talking about his friend who left his job and sent out this really beautiful letter. You can read the post here. I related to a lot of the things the writer, Nate, was saying he learned and experienced through his own medical trauma, and we've both been on a similar journey of realizing that God has His own beautiful purpose in our pain. So I let a comment asking the blogger to have Nate email me, and I received an email within an hour. This is why I love social media. This is why I roll my eyes every time my mom makes a joke about my "imaginary friends." Because of Twitter, blogs, and the internet in general, people have ways to find other people that they wouldn't be able to meet otherwise. You can find people who go through the same struggles that you're dealing with, and with nothing more than a comment or an email, you both can feel a little less alone because someone else out there just gets it.
I have a meeting Saturday morning that could very well open up a door into a special opportunity for me. I know this is vague, but I just don't want to say what it is until I know what's going to happen. Pray for a God-touched and God-led conversation if you think of me.
It's my mom's 50th birthday today, as well as my sweet friend Kyla's 24th. I am so proud to be Mom's daughter and Kyla's friend. They are both such huge blessings to me. Even my mom, with all of our disagreements, and differences, and fights, she's still my mom, she's still one of the coolest people I've ever known, and she is still a fighter and there's not a doubt in my mind that she would go to the ends of the earth to get me the help I need because she's already done it multiple times. Her dedication and determination to give me the best life possible, the best education possible, and the best medical treatment possible is a HUGE part of the reason that I am not only still here, but I am thriving.
I've kept food down. Yay Phenergan.
Okay, I really need to get this essay written so I can get back to bed. It's a good thing that since French Lit is canceled, my first class isn't until 1:00.
I may sleep in this hoodie and jeans, though. Just saying.