I just finished uploading my Blogger posts here. I'm particularly impressed by how much easier it is to edit the web site elements here in Multiply, as compared to my previous host. Who knows, I might decide to move everything here for good.
Anybody could imagine the wide-eyed surprise on the disciples' faces when they heard the news: Jesus's body was gone. The first thought that probably flitted through their minds was that somebody might have stolen it in an attempt to vandalize and add insult to injury to their Master's tragic death. But it was not so. He who had been hanging limply on a wooden pole just two days before, impaled and tied down like a common criminal, was alive.
So I made up my mind to start writing again. It might take a while to resurrect this stinking blue and white cadaver of a blog, but it could be worth all the effort.
Yes, worth something for you, and me, both of us, dear reader. For you, because this post and the ones that will succeed it are all that connect (albeit tenuously) your conception of me, to the reality of me -- yes, I still am alive and kicking.
For me, because the word-churning machine that is my brain has long laid rusting and rotting under inches of virtual dust due to utter disuse, and I will be needing its trusty cogs and wheels in a little less than a month for my (dreaded) SATs.
Stay tuned.
Nothing can be more stressful to me than a 65-question final exam that looms like a gigantic crocodile on my horizon, ready to devour me, eyeglasses and all. Especially when I'm only half a night and a hundred textbook pages away from the dread event itself.
Plainly speaking, I'm a grade-conscious control freak. Although I may not seem to be one in light of my irrepressible predilection to take 5-minute power naps while in class, I am a perfectionist to the core. Every week I spend countless hours planning my daily to-do list in my organizer and jotting down the most minute and mundane tasks I need to do. while dreaming and fantasizing of the prospect of getting a perfect column of A's on my transcript at the end of the semester, all at the same time.
And when the going gets tough, I get anxious. Terribly anxious. My palms begin to sweat so much that I can almost see the drops of sweat dripping on my handouts while I hastily leaf through them. Sometimes my stomach gets really queasy that I throw up what's left of the last meal I ate.
There's something definitely wrong with me.
"But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" Matthew 6.30Why, oh, why can't and don't I trust You? In spite of my filthy wretchedness, Lord, give me the will to toss my puny hand-made idols into the fire and the heart to treasure Your name above all else, instead of myself. Please, let me rest. In You.
let's start this surreal exercise your mind let it flow like a bubbling mountain stream let go of your inhibitions think think think aaaaagh i can't do this it feels like pulling a huge molar from the gaping mouth of a live bear what's keeping you i don't know i just think that my sentences have to be ought to be need to be impeccable flawless shimmering silk-white pearls strung together in a masterpiece of a necklace my OC-ness is showing how long does it take for me to write a whole paragraph you're slowly becoming as mental as your psychiatric patients watch out oh God what am i doing i should be reading the Book right now hollow empty eye sockets the wasteland dry and withered desert heart what am i doing nothing important idol writing death
