You Are a Failure

We all have those days when we feel like our brains have stopped working, we can't do anything right, and all our past sins and mistakes just seem like they're hovering over us, waiting for us to fall again.
We all have those days when we feel like utter failures.
The thing we have to realize, though, is that when the world tells us we're great and smart and gonna succeed, they may be right in a sense, but it's a lie.
We have to realize that we are failures.
But here's the key -- we're failures apart from God.
What can a fallen, sinful person do on their own?
Fail. Time and time and time again.
But what about a person filled with God, trusting in Him for everything?
They may fall occasionally, but they will be victorious for His glory.
That's not to say they never feel like they can't do it. That's not to say that they never feel guilty about things they've done or opportunities they've passed up.
The difference is that they admit that and thank God for loving them anyway.
And God loves failures.
And once He changes them and lives in them, they're not failures anymore.
They're victors.

(Un)Happy Happenstance?

Sometimes everything goes just how you want it to.

And sometimes . . . okay, usually it probably doesn't.

That can't be the end of everything.

You can't let it beat you.

Beat it.

Try harder.

Change your plans to work with how things are now.

And win.

Who knows?

Things might turn out better this way. . .

Oopsie Daisies

I'm sure we've all had that one moment where we went: 

"Oh. Poop. I did not think that one through."

I know I have, and I'm brave enough to tell you about it.

It's utterly hilarious, but at the same time really . . . not.

So this summer, I was working full time and working out afterwards.

That meant I essentially had 10 hour "work" days.

Needless to say, after that, I'd be tired, and rarely up for silly shenanigans, though I'm generally total game for a good shenanigan.

I was house sitting for a lady I know and watching her dog. He was a really sweet old thing, but nearly blind and almost if not totally deaf.

She had an alarm system - it didn't work on this one specific door - so she didn't use it; it's a pretty safe neighborhood.

Remember that. It's important later.

So every morning I'd let the dog out to do his business in the side yard, and every night I'd do the same thing when I came home.

Thing is, at night, this giant puppy would set off the motion-detecting light. It would turn on then off then on then off ad nauseam. 

It drove me nuts.

Well, on my third or fourth night there, I let the dog out and noticed that the light didn't turn on.

Whatever.

Well, the poor baby's deaf, so I had to go outside to get him; he wouldn't be able to hear me calling for him.

I go out there, all the way out to the end of the yard, and coax him in, and that light still doesn't cut on.

I still don't really care.

As soon as we get inside, the light snaps on.

And stays on.

Yeah, NOW I care.

See,

No, not of rational things that could actually inflict bodily harm.

Of Aliens (yes, capital A), the Flood, krakens, spiders, plesiosaurs, and other such monstrous calamities.

I legitimately prayed to not be the first ten minutes of Supernatural.

Yeah, I was freaking out.

I tried a few switches and decided there was really nothing I could do about it, so I went to bed, thinking I could ignore that infernal flashing outside my windows.

Ha.

Nope.

So I get up - and by this point it's about 12:30, 1 am - and I try the switches again.

None are connected to it.

I go outside to see if there's anything I can put in front of the sensor to make it shut the heck off.

There's not.

By this point, I'm really scared that someone's figured out I was staying there alone with an old, deaf doggie and they were out in the bushes waiting for me to give up and forget to lock the door.

I called my dad - who was 2 blocks away - and start blubbering (not crying, just tired, scared blubbering) about not being able to shut the light off and hence not being able to sleep.

For having been woken up at like, 1 am, he was incredibly gracious about the whole thing.

He offered to come over and check it out, and I figured it couldn't do any harm, so asked him to yes please, please come over, thank you, Daddy.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls in and we begin our investigation.

We tried every. Switch. In. The. House.

Downstairs and upstairs.

Nothing.

By this point, the light seemed permanently on, so I got the brilliant idea of looking at the alarm panel.

See, there's a button there that said "motion".

I figured that maybe if I cycled through it real quick it'd turn it off.

Right. . . 

So, I push the button.

IT ARMS THE SYSTEM.

Yeah, so at this point, I'm feeling utterly defeated and I tell my dad he can go ahead and go home - I don't know the code because she doesn't use the system.

He says okay, goes through the living room to turn off the lights and-----

Now, I'd like to say I was cool and confident and merely went:

Um, no.

Try this on for size:

Yeah, that was the worst ten minutes of my life.

I tried calling her, texting her, punching in common pass codes.

Nothing.

Did I mention that by this point it was about 2 in the morning?

About five minutes into the alarm going off, I wondered "Where are the cops?" but either way they weren't there, so it didn't matter.

It ended up shutting off on its own, so my dad left through the door that doesn't work anyway.

About two minutes after he left, the house phone rings.

IT'S THE LADY.

I answer, and apologize profusely for waking her up so early.

She too was very gracious about the whole ordeal, but then confessed that she wasn't sure if she knew the code either.

Thankfully, she did.

She asked what had happened, and I told her.

Apparently, that light is just possessed, and there's really nothing that can be done about it.

It was about five minutes into the call that I noticed lights at the back of the house.

No sound, just lights.

And being that I was now basically alone, whomever it was could have just slept there, because as we all know:

Anyway, it turned out to be a cop.

Good thing I was still on the phone with the homeowner -- she got me out of a mountain of trouble.

I never did figure out how he was summoned, exactly.

I don't think it was dispatch.

Must've been a neighbor.

Ha, bet they loved me.

Anyway, after he left, the homeowner and I just kind of stood there in shock.

"How long ago did the alarm go off?"

". . . About 20 minutes ago. . ."

Yeah.

Needless to say, I was basically useless on 4-5 hours of not-so-awesome sleep.

And that is the story of how I awakened a neighborhood and learnt the lesson that if you don't know what it does, don't touch it.

First of the Last Days

Oh my . . . that sounded much more bleak and apocalyptic than I meant it to.

What I'm talking about is the first day of classes tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'm a senior.

It'll be the first day of the last days of my college education.

And while I'm really excited about that, I'm kinda bummed, too.

I feel like I've just hit this point where I'm ready to have a degree and start being a productive member of society, but I feel like I want to do so much more.

I want to go to Europe.

I want to own a salon.

I want to learn fencing.

I want to go to the beaches in Florida.

I want to see snow. (Not in August, obviously, but I do.)

I want to write what I want to write, but I don't know what I want to write.

I guess tomorrow is one step closer to all of that.

Yep, I suppose it is.

A Crazy, Well-Dressed Hitchhiker and Morning Classes

For my technical writing class we have to split into groups and study traffic circles. I'm not really sure why traffic circles, but that's what he said.

He wanted drive through videos, pictures of the signs and pictures of the markings on the road.

After class Wednesday, my group and I went to get the signs, but we didn't have time to get out and get pictures.

I said I'd get them Thursday. I ran out of time, so I decided to get up early on Friday and get them before class.

Yeah. Right.

Anyone who knows me knows that I can stay up literally all night if I want or need to.

But I am not a morning person.

Regrettably, once I'm up, I'm up, so you wake me at 3 AM . . . you had better have something really cool for me to do, or I'll hate dislike you intensely for the rest of the day.

Anyhoo, I set my alarm for 6:15 AM.

It went off, and I reset it for 6:45.

It went off again, and I reset it for 7.

Then I got up.

Slowly.

I didn't have time to get the pictures before class, so I went to get them after.

Being the ditz I am, I sort of got lost looking for it.

But then I found it.

Yay!

So I got out and ended up standing in the middle of the (EMPTY) road snapping pictures with my iPad.

Needless to say, I got some pretty weird looks from the drivers, who must've wondered why some random girl was running around a traffic circle.

"She looks too clueless to be a contractor. . ."

And it was so cold.

So cold.

I couldn't feel my face!

Also, I've decided that I am never again taking 8 AM classes across the board. 

Not unless I have to.

Because then I will have grey hair by the time I graduate.

(No students or drivers were harmed during the events of this post. Everyone was just very cold.)

My (Mis)Adventure in the Realm of Cuisine - Part II

So. 

Y'all thought I would only have one (Mis)Adventure?

Nope.

Ha.

NOPE.

And here's the whammy - this one's a twofer.

So, me and my mom tried to make Peasant Bread.

It's supposed to rise, be punched down and separated, then rise again.

Well, the second time, it didn't rise. Like, at all.

We were stumped. 

It tasted perfectly fine, but it looked funny.

Remember that - it's important later.

So, the day after that, we tried making Amish Country Bread.

Pretty similar, all things considered.

So I was measuring and combining things when I realized we didn't have enough salt in one container. I asked my mom to get another one down since my hands were full. She asked how much I needed, and I said three tablespoons. She kinda made a face and was like "That's a lot" and she looked at the recipe.

Well.

All the measurements but one had a "t" or a "T" with them, so I thought they were all tablespoons. 

I learned to cook thinking "T" was tablespoon, and "tsp" was teaspoon.

My mom started laughing.

"Sissy," quoth she, "you know, you're a smart cookie . . . But sometimes you're really clueless."

(And she's right.)

Apparently, "T" can stand for tablespoon, and "t" can stand for teaspoon.

I assumed it was poor internet grammar.

And the thing is, I was measuring them all out with a tablespoon and since I needed three teaspoons of it, that would've been one tablespoon.

Well, we remembered that right after we poured it back.

Yep.

And while we were measuring, we decided to make sure one packet of yeast was two tablespoons, as we assumed it had been the day before.

Alas, it was not.

Therefore, the bread the day before had not risen a second time because there was only enough oomf for once. 

Yes.

This is me in the kitchen.

But everything still tastes good, so really.

(I FINALLY FOUND A USE FOR THIS!!!!!)

Field Trip!

Yesterday, one of my professors took us up to Columbia to go see Antony and Cleopatra performed by some players from Cambridge University.
It. Was. Fantastic!!
It was also a blast because our professor gave us a tour of Columbia - like where he lived and stuff like that.
We ended up going to a Mexican place afterwards (that play was 3 hours long!) and laughed about just about everything - not about the performance; the performance was impeccable.
If y'all ever have a chance to see the touring Cambridge University Players, you should.
And next time we go up there, we need to go to the zoo.
I haven't been to the zoo in ages. . .