shoo flu, don't bother me.

The flu won this week.

Five whole days of fevered bliss.

Yes, bliss. No, not fever blisters. That would be rather Job-esque.

When I was little---

ok, I was like 15. There are you happy? Now you really know that I'm a freak---

I thought I had a fever every day. I truly believed that I was coming down with something or another, and that I needed to go to the hospital, the doctor, whatever the case would be to keep me home and away from school. My freshman year of high school I hated school. I was awkward, an outcast, depressed, too skinny (hah. what a problem to have had) and I thought that my life would be forever bettered by one of two things happening:

1) being home-schooled

2) being home sick from school

They wouldn't budge on the homeschooling thing (bless them.) so I yearned for illness.

Anyways. I got over the I-Hate-High School phase. And the Will-You-Check-My-Temperature-Everyday phase.

But this week, all of my sick twisted dreams came true:

I'm talking about a legitimate 100 degree fahrenheit fever that meant that my dad would not be able to kiss my four head and say in a way that I found so grating on my tweenaged over sensitive hypochondriac nerves,

"Cool as a cucumber!"

Aha! Finally! I won against the thermometer that insists that my temperature is merely 96.8, far lower than even the normal temperature. I finally got the bragging rights to thrust my forehead towards my Dad's pursed lips and scream, "Kiss this! I am one sick baby!"

Except I was stuck at school. And my Dad was stuck at home.

Oh. The. Irony.

Is that irony? Or just life?

Funny how when you're actually sick, all you want is your mom or dad to tuck you into bed and kiss your forehead and acknowledge that you truly are the most miserable pitiful most precious baby in the world. Durn the injustice of the flu and all of it's treacheries!

After a rousing round of antibiotics, I'm on the mend.

Although I still would like my Dad to kiss my forehead and tuck me in.

consider the coconut

"The truth is, my brokenness emphasizes God's holiness. When I am dishonest about my struggle it does a disservice to the witness of the work of the Holy Spirit in my life."

Truer words, were possibly never spoken.

I'm quoting my friend here. No, not my friend C.S. Lewis, who isn't really my friend at all with him being dead and me being alive and seeing that he never knew that I existed. But my real life friend who is wise and caring and funny and cute and "a catch." [Let me know if you need her number, fellas.]

I'm thinking about brokenness in general, and what it means to be broken-- a myriad of things, I'm sure. Broken in spirit, broken hearted, broken bones, brok'an-i-need-money (that was supposed to be a play on words... all's lost in print).

Generally not so good for us.

Except for when it's our pride. When our pride is broken and when we can confess that

1) we're not perfect

2) we don't really have anything figured out

3) we're awkward around boys

4) we snore when we sleep

5) we are too honest about how we feel about everything

6) we'll stop here. see #5

well, I think that's when all of the good stuff comes. Aka, the Holy Spirit being the good stuff to come in and restore us. To remind us that we get our worth from Someone Bigger than all of our wretchedness combined. And to remove the rotting flesh of pride with a nice skin graft of humility.

Pretend you are a coconut. Pre-Holy-Spirit you are a hard fuzzy brown smelly ball hanging on the top of a tree, occasionally reeking havoc when you decided to let gravity win and fall to the ground hitting all the meecy-mice and boppin' them on the head.

Post-Holy-Spirit, you've been cracked open, your hard fuzzy brown smelly shell whacked open with a large knife, and all of this delicious nourishing sweet frothy milk comes pouring out of you.

What purpose do we serve as coconuts until we've been broken and hallowed out and repurposed? We're losing our full potential as the bikini top for hula dancers or the topping for the lamb cake at Easter if we're hanging at the top of tree covered in that hard brown fuzz.

Or, as reality would have it, we're covered in pride and too afraid to let Someone Bigger come and whack us open and make us new.

this moment brought to you by vile-thing.

Quick! Quick! I only have 8 minutes until I need to be someplace dreadfully important.

I'm in the fireplace room at my school where it's supposed to be s-i-l-e-n-t. Conducive to studying-- or sleeping, depending on your mood. Also conducive to canoodling with your boyfriend (referring to couple in the corner, not me) or crotch grabbing as the boy on the couch next to me so graciously just displayed.

I think I may have audibly gagged. That or he just looked over at me to see if I had noticed.

Who, me? Notice you grossly adjusting yourself in public?

Come on, people.

frabjous day!

another subscription! another subscription!

watch me heel click.

this semester is looking bright already.

shmappy shmu year

I keep checking this blog with my fingers crossed for a new subscription, comment, high five- anything.

Alas. Nothing. Just me and my bloggable thoughts-- less bloggable lately, but here they are.

This is the mandatory first blog post of 2011 (5 days late), and I'm mostly at a loss for words. I'm highly doubting that this blog will make it through the full year, I'll get caught up in real life and not the life that I paint on this cyber-canvas, and one day I'll stumble upon this just like I stumbled on xanga and think cooly, "oh, that old thing?" and that'll be it.

So don't say I didn't warn you.

If you're up for it, I'm going to post an essay that I wrote for a contest that I probably didn't win and probably won't win (will find out in February) but I think it's blog-worthy only because it's about blogs.

On second thought--- I'm going to wait until after they announce the winners.

How's that for a cliff hanger?! Now you'll have to keep coming back!

BAHAHAHA! (evil laughter, obviously)