Audible voice of God? Perhaps.

Well here I find myself again...ridiculously tired, sitting on my floor eating tortellini, and trying to avoid eye contact with the stack of 3x5 cards that make up the magical pathway to the best research paper ever. I have nothing against that particular paper, I just would rather go to bed than type up a draft that I know is going to be sketchy at best.

What does all this mean? Go find somebody to give you a high-5 (or a hug if you're lucky) dear reader, because you have found yourself in the middle of a warm-up. That's right...the shadow of genius you see here is only a glimmer of the amazing-ness that is to come in this paper about...media's objectification of adolescent girls. Exciting, I know. At least I hope it will be amazing...I hope. I hope. I hope.

So there I was in class on Tuesday morning, thinking "ok, I'm not gonna cry, not gonna cry, not gonna cry, etc." Of course, I attempted to look "cute," and of course I wasn't going around being all like "ooooh, this is SUCH a bad week...I'm going to see a COUNSELOR on Thursday." I was just...me. Normal quiet, nerdy, occasionally snarky, me. Usually the prof starts of class by praying, but that morning he shook things up a little and told us to pair up and pray for each other. This girl that I sit beside always pairs up with me, so of course we paired up for this. She started to tell me what she needed prayer for: "I look happy a lot, but I'm actually not ok all the time...I'm actually kinda bitter at the world, but people just don't see it." HOLD ON. DID WE JUST MIND MELD?! Because that's exactly what I was thinking I SHOULD say but then the lame part of my brain was going all like "no, you shouldn't tell anybody because they'll just think you're an emotional wreck because you're SUPPOSED to be the one who's always 'fine.'" Well too bad lame quadrant of my head, I was like "that's so weird...that's exactly what I'm going through." And that is how she became the first person here in Spokane to know that I was going to counseling.

Not that that's the important part...the important part is that there aren't accidents. There aren't "funny things." Things like that are nothing short of what I like to call "God talking." And maybe I'm not even calling it that, maybe that's what it IS.