Senioritis

I'm beginning to feel the effects. There's a high possibility the condition has been exacerbated by the fact that I'm only taking 12 hours this semester, and 12 hours the next. Homework assignments and art projects that formerly dominated my life and carried the full essence of my self-worth are now eclipsed by the realization that in 301 days, I'll have a college degree in my hand and no clue what I'm going to do with my life. Getting a C on my latest paper doesn't seem that earth shattering any more.

It's time's like these, these sobering moments of self-reflection and pondering the future that it's important to remember the sovereignty of God. When my relationship with God grows stale and He seems so distant, I forget that He is intimately involved in every aspect of my life. I begin to worry about whether or not I'll be successful in my chosen career path, will I actually be able to make it on my own or will I miserably fail at life. Will I even choose the right direction? All those worries are complete and total drivel, because I have absolutely nothing to worry about. The one thing that should occupy my thoughts and have my undivided attention is whether or not I am loving God with all that I am, submitting to Him as my King, and trusting Him as my Father. The rest will fall into place, and my life will be something that I can look back on with no regrets.

To live would be an awfully big adventure.

Fatty gobbetts...

Semi-serious injuries are quite entertaining. For example, I cut my hand open while sledding yesterday. When you live in a building with 180 other people, all stuck inside because of the snow, a little bit of blood and some dramatic screaming always draws a significant crowd. Anyways, I was stupid (as any 19 year old in college has a right to be) and decided it would be a good idea to hurl myself down the death slope next to the 100 steps without a sled. One of those "here, hold my beer" moments. Except there wasn't any beer involved. I'm not sure if that makes it even more pathetic.

I guess "cutting my hand open" might be a little overstatement. Whatever decided to attack my hand during my rapid descent thought it decent to only go fat-deep. Not all that serious, though time will tell whether or not I should have gotten stitches. Still, seeing one's fatty tissue peeking through several layers of skin to blubber out "hello!" is enough to make one nauseous.

I would like to say that I have wonderful friends. Specifically, my sister-in-law who took incredible photos of all the blood, and my brother who gutted it up and scrubbed my hand as hard as he could. Oh yeah, that dramatic screaming I was talking about? That was him.

Okay, I'll admit, I might have screamed too, but considering the amount of blood that was pouring into the sink, I believe it was entirely justified. So, nearly 24 hours later, the wound has ceased to ooze bodily fluids and appears to be on track to recovery.

Moral lesson? ... Well, the best thing I can think of, if you're going to do something idiotic, I would advise being under the influence of alcohol. At least then you'll have a decent excuse, unlike me.