Boxcutter+Stupidity=Emergency Room

Many things happen by accident. Or as my mother would say, by stupidity. I think this might qualify. I'll tell the story, you be the judge.

It was a normal rainy afternoon, no threatening bolts of lightening hurtling from the sky as the gargoyle statues loom menacingly in the night. It was just kinda dreary, and I decided to do the fairly normal task of organizing my room. No stitching together a living creature from dead body parts with Igor lurching in the background. But stitches were to come.

In a flash of brilliance, I decided to fit a smaller drawer designed for jewelry into a larger drawer designed for my inconvenience. But the smaller drawer actually turned out to be 1/4 of an inch too tall. It was so frustrating to ALMOST be able to close the drawer, but not quite. I was tempted to howl at the moon it was so irritating. But since it was not night, there was no moon to howl at. So I contented myself with having another flash of brilliance. A box cutter! Of course! I can just cut the imposing 1/4 inch off the box and viola, problem solved.

And then the stupidity...er...accident happened. The box cutter decided it liked the taste of flesh much better and slipped right into my finger. Pulsating blood began to ooze everywhere. Being the level headed nurse that I am I quickly rinsed my finger in the kitchen sink, but making a big splattering mess in the process. And then I decided since I was all alone, it would be a good time to meet the neighbors.

"Hi, my name is Julia, I'm your neighbor, would you be able to take me to the emergency room?"

They were incredibly gracious, and I was kind enough not to bleed on their carpet. Four hours of emergency room waiting later, I was seen by a doctor who had his med-student stitch me up. Let's just say, seeing other people's blood for a living does not prepare you to see your own blood up close and personal. Or experience all the excruciating pain associated with it. Moral of the story, don't be stupid, especially when sharp blades are involved.

Independence

Well, now we can all see how good I am at keeping resolutions. Wasn't this a fun experiment? The pressure was building to keep telling funny, creative stories. But nothing funny or creative was happening in my life, all I could think of was sad things to write about. And who wants to read a sad blog? I know I don't. And so I left it. And now I'm back! And it's the 4th of July. A happy occasion, which I can write about. Unless you start thinking about all the bloodshed which transpired for Independence to come about. All the brothers and sons and fathers dying and all the sisters and mothers and wives grieving. I hear the sound of firework cannons blasting and my windows rattle, and all I can think of are families huddling in their homes, wondering with each blast if it was their family at the receiving end. Because a king wanted to rule a country across an ocean. When will all this death and dying and suffering and grief and loss end? When our true King returns, and calls us home. It can't come soon enough. And that my friends IS a happy thing to write about!

Time is money

Consider the following conversation:
"I need to go to the time machine first before we go."

"Um, okay Julia, you sci-fi weirdo."

"How is that weird? Or even science-fiction?"

"Time machines don't exist."

"Yes they do!"

"No they don't!"

"Then where else am I supposed to get my money from?"

"The bank?"

"Time machines are at the bank. You've never heard of one before?"

"Only from H.G. Wells."

"No, no, not TIME machine, TYME machine. You know, Take Your Money Everywhere?"

"Never heard of it."

After several phone calls to prove I wasn't off my rocker we finally did a drive by so the proof could be tangible. Because I do know time machines don't exist. But teleportation on the other hand... well, that's a different story.

Ewww

*WARNING: this post is bordering on the gross, read at your own risk*

Yesterday I dealt with a lot of snot. And I'm not trying to be poetic. There was nothing poetic about the thick and creamy ooze coming out of my poor patient's nose. And snot should not be thick and creamy. Only my Wendy's frosty should be described that way. It was also stringy and sticky. Like string cheese. Or taffy. And it was a lovely yellow color. Like puke. Or cream of broccoli soup. Which, incidentally, is what I had for lunch.

This is why I get in trouble with everyone I know. I can't help but describe the disgusting things I see and deal with, in vivid detail, because it's more fun that way. How am I supposed to help it if it always comes up during times food is present? It's because when it comes to food and bodily secretions, the analogies are endless. Think about it. I'm sure you could come up with a few. And now I'm going to eat some broccoli soup with side dish of string cheese and a frosty for dessert. But hold the puke please.

Worshiping

The ixthus. I have always liked this symbol. Not in a cool faddish type of way. But in thinking about it in the context of the historical church. How Christians were killed for worshiping together, and so developed this symbol to recognize one another safely. I can just imagine, going to the market place to pick up some fruit and seeing the fish symbol carved into the wood of the fruit stall. I meet the eyes of the stall-keeper with a knowing glance and outline the fish with my fingertip. He understands my meaning and gives an impercebtible nod. "We'll be discussing everlasting fruits at my house this evening, come and join us." Finally found, a place to worship, all through the simple image of a fish.

I have one on the back of my car, the outline of an ixthus. While I praise God for being able to openly worship Him, it is a good reminder to me of all my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ who are unable to do so. May they still have found ways to gather together and praise His name this past Easter weekend.

Tornado!

Whenever I'm stressed, or some big change is coming along, I dream about tornadoes. It's very predictable. The night before taking my nursing boards... cyclones galore filled my head. Last night was no exception.
I was driving down a deserted road. Roads are always deserted in dreams. I can hear the warning sirens. I see two funnel clouds behind me, meandering destructively close. I see two more starting to form in front of me. There's no way to avoid them all. I pull over on the side of the road, thinking I'll lie flat in the ditch. Then I spy a farm house. There are some children playing in the front yard and their pregnant mother is hanging laundry in the wind. Can't they see the impending doom?
I run over to warn them about the tornadoes, telling them to get to a cellar. Because of course, farm houses never have basements, but they do have cellars. I find out these dream people can only speak Spanish. I know even less Spanish as my dream self than I do as my real self. But the tornadoes are coming closer and speak for themselves. We rush to a cellar. The two little kids, the pregnant woman and myself squeeze in. We close the doors and I magically have a flashlight in my hands. We all crouch on the floor around the light. We hear the wind, feel it rattling the cellar doors and the ground. Then it feels like we're flying. I peer through some loose boards and we're definitely up in the air. But none of us are scared anymore, because as long as we stay in the cellar we'll be safe. And then I wake up. The thing is, I can't figure out what I'm stressed about this time.

Smiley-Face Saturday

Maybe the basketball was artfully placed... but the swing has always been there, with the ropes knotted just so. Happy Smiley-face Saturday!

Smiley-face Saturday

Some days, there isn't much to smile about. So all the more reason to have a Smiley-face Saturday! This is a picture my sister sent to me on my phone. She saw a pile of junk mail and sitting atop it a smile! They truly are everywhere when you start looking. Happy Smiley-Face Saturday!

Mighty to Save

Everyone needs compassion,

Love that's never failing;

Let mercy fall on me.

Everyone needs forgiveness,

The kindness of a Saviour;

The Hope of nations.

Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

So take me as You find me,

All my fears and failures,

Fill my life again.

I give my life to follow

Everything I believe in,

Now I surrender.

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

Shine your light and let the whole world see,

We're singing for the glory of the risen King...Jesus

My Saviour, He can move the mountains,My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave!

written by Reuben Morgan and Ben Fielding from Hillsong Church

Pain

I can only say... too true... and I've always wondered how often patients feel this way when we ask them our ridiculous questions!

Smiley-Face Saturday

French-fries and Onion rings... nutritious lunch and smiley-face fun! Created by Jaimee. Picture captured by Julia

Fire

When I entered the apartment building a few days ago, the whole first floor was hazy. At first I thought it was just my eyes because I was tired, but then I smelled burning. But there were no fire alarms going off, so maybe it was just someone's dinner? I decided to go get my brother to compare senses. Ignoring the "in case of fire use stairs" sign, I took the elevator to the third floor.
The third floor smelled funky too. Burning funky, not funk funky, if you know what I mean. Jordan came out into the hall, then went to the first floor. Using the stairs. That one has a head on his shoulders I'd say. He agreed it smelled like something was burning but since no alarms were going off and we couldn't see billowing smoke coming from anyone's door we took the elevator back up to the third floor with our ears peeled for sirens. Then we started talking about if there was a fire, what would we grab from our apartment to save?
Jordan said he'd take all his clothes and throw his mattress out the window. He likes his bed. I didn't really know what I'd take. Maybe all my pictures and journals. My purse with my ID and everything in it. You know how it is ladies, EVERYTHING is in the purse. But other than that I wasn't quite sure. What would YOU take?

Whew

Whew and whew again. Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. Did I really sign up to deal with exploding urine bags? And let's not forget the exploding poo. Lots and lots of exploding poo. And a patient who knows no English, is highly confused, just had brain surgery, is connected to every type of tube and cord imaginable, has to go to the bathroom and so decides it's okay to get out of bed; with every cord and tube being pulled to its breaking point. "Esperar! Esperar!" I shout, the only bits of Spanish I know coming from deep within the recesses of my brain. Ah yes, I see the problem, exploding poo, okay, gloves on, "Come and help me please!" I shout into the hall. Four nurses come running, you don't ignore a plea for help in the ICU. We push pull and drag the poor man to the toilet, tubes and all. "Sit down!" "Don't pull!" "Don't touch!" we all yell in English. "Ah, su madre! Su madre!" is all he says. He's like a deer caught in some well meaning headlights. Later, through an interpreter, he complains "I'm sick, and everyone just yells at me all the time. Don't they know that I'm sick? I'm going back to Mexico." Ah Mexico. I'd like to go there too, if only to escape the exploding fecal matter.

FOUR

Here are the rules . . .
1. Go to the 4th folder where you keep your pictures on your computer.
2. Post the 4th picture in the folder.
3. Explain the photo.
4. Tag 4 fellow bloggers to join in the fun!

This picture may not look like much but it has LOTS of memories. This is the alley directly behind my childhood home. Our garage is to the left. This garage was always home to several garter snakes in the summer time. We would always try and see who was the bravest and fish them out from their hidey-hole by the tail. Needless to say quite a few of us got bit. But it was due to youthful exuberance, so it was okay. I was tagged by my lovely mother, who might not know this story. Just remember, youthful exuberance mom, youthful exuberance.

I tag Vicki, Connie, Kiwi Da Fruit and Owan

My adventure

I have arrived at the age where the stupid things I do can no longer be chalked up to youthful exuberance. Hence my adventure to get my car which had been in the car hospital for 4 weeks after an unfortunate incident involving snow, a sharp turn and a poor little car that never had a chance. The driver shall remain nameless. But we'll call that incident stupid thing NUMBER ONE.




I firstly decided to take a bus, which could only take me so far, as my car was being held in another town adjacent to the one I live in. But I think taking a bus halfway shows some signs of intelligence, so we'll call this smart thing NUMBER ONE.


The bus took me half way and I prepared myself for the four mile trek. Four miles is really not that far. Now, if I had, let's say, not worn a winter jacket and a hat and gloves, and walking shoes, it would've been a stupid thing. But I promise I was in appropriate attire so this can be a neutral thing. I actually enjoyed walking for a time, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there were pretty little houses for them too:

Oh, and did I mention I had a map? Well, okay, I didn't have it with me. But it was in my head because I had carefully planned my route before I left. I think this was smart thing NUMBER TWO.

But then I came to the highway overpass and realized the sidewalk runs out after going under the overpass. Very unfortunate.

The OVERPASS

The sidewalkless highway. Stupid thing NUMBER TWO.

The closeup of the ditch I got to walk in. It was very muddy and wet.

Stupid thing NUMBER THREE.

The train tracks I walked on. They were less muddy and wet. And no trains were in sight, so can I call this smart thing NUMBER THREE?

After all that walking adventure, I finally made it to my car. I could've wept with joy. I collected my keys, said so long to the car hostages....er, I mean, car mechanics, and what took me an hour to walk took me ten minutes to drive. I love not-so-modern-anymore technology. But it looks like I did three stupid things, and three smart things. Hence they cancel each other out and now I am neither smart nor stupid! Until next time...

A clarifying statement to ponder...

A true Christian is offended by other's sin only in that it is offensive to God, and not because someone has offended them

A statement to ponder...

A true Christian is offended by their own sin

and not the sins of others

Smiley-Face Saturday

The "cooktop" on my sister's pretend stove. I think it looks like a smiley face. And that's all that matters. Happy Smiley-Face Day!

Quilts and Kulots

When I was twelve years old my mother decided it was time I learn to sew using the SEWING MACHINE. A very big deal as this was the sacred sewing machine. It had crafted curtains, bedspreads, matching dresses for us girls and many other things that I don't even know about. However, it was now my turn to approach the threshold of the mighty stitching one and craft something glorious. A pair of shorts. Kulots to be exact. You know... are they shorts, is it a skirt? One never could tell. They were very tricksy. Much like learning how to sew with a sewing machine. It awed me with it's silent purring power. I sat down with my fabric, which was actually kinda hideous, but it was the 90's, so what do you expect. Fabric under the needle, check. Foot on the pedal, check. Push down really hard and let the machine take over? Uncheck. But it was too late and my sewing lesson was delayed by some 13 odd years. But I am here as a testament that it is never too late! So go and sew, and may all your corners meet and all your urges to push really hard on the sewing machine pedal stay in check.

Smiley-Face Saturday

And Happy Valentines Day! That's something to smile about, right? Even if you are single, there is still love to share with those close to you. And can be found in places like the basement. In a splattering of paint that was not purposefully created to smile at you, but a happy coincidence nonetheless. (Found by my little sister while roller skating.)

Hematoma

As a child, my mother said I had banana legs. Of course she meant they were long and skinny like a banana, right? No. My legs were being compared to those slightly rotten bananas that have all those nasty brown spots all over them. But, I can't argue with the evidence. So I decided to make a record of several of the bruises I've received recently. Some of them I know where they came from, like falling on the ice...several times. (Did I mention I'm clumsy?) But some of them I just sorta woke up with, leading me to the conclusion I beat myself in my sleep. Regardless of where they come from, I think we can all concur that they do indeed look like rotting bananas.

Smiley-face Saturday

Some Smiley-ing-Faces for your viewing pleasure. Not a cop-out, I promise, but I left my camera at my parents house. Until next saturday. Besides, you all know you wanted a close-up of my mercedes teeth.

Cars and Teeth

I have Mercedes teeth. No, I'm not making it up! My dentist said I have Mercedes teeth. I've never had my teeth compared to a car before. I'm going to take it as a compliment. However, my Mercedes needs an oil change. Again, not making this up! This is how I found out I needed the oil change:
"I am going to take this sharp pointy thing and jam it up into your gums and see if you bleed. If you bleed that means you don't have healthy gums. This might be a tad uncomfortable," so says my dentist.
Well, okay, maybe I'm making up the "jamming a sharp pointy thing into your gums" statement up, but the rest is true. And that is exactly what he did! And it hurt! And I bled! A lot! But wouldn't you if someone was jamming sharp pointy objects into your highly vascular gum bed? It tasted like I'd been socked in the mouth a few times after he was done. But apparently I have gingivitis because my gums bled. Which means my gums need to be planed. Like a sandblaster on a plank of wood. What is it with these metaphors? But since I have Mercedes teeth it was not a depressing day. And that was all I was aiming for.

Missing...

Okay, so I've let a few days go by, but really only mainly because of work. To tell the honest truth (rather than the unhonest truth) work was a little depressing these past few days. So I like drowning my sorrows in chocolate and books rather than blogging. But I will return with some more humorous stories from my most humorous life. Like about my dentist appointment. Or the mysterious bruises. Or the guy who reads the paper at the same time every night with the light on and the curtains open for us all to gaze upon and marvel at a world of consistency. See, isn't your interest piqued now? So I bid you anon until things are less depressing which will most likely be later today. After my dentist appointment. And only if there are no cavities.

Smiley-Face Saturday

A picture taken at the foot of my electric drums. I erased the carpet though, in case you were thinking my carpet was this pristine white. Because it's not. Which is why I erased it. Remember to smile today!

Fail

Can anyone explain to me why my font becomes ginormous when I don't want it to and my pictures stay minuscule when I don't want them to?
Computers... the bane of my existence. I know what they SHOULD do, it's just getting them to do it is where the problem lies. I try and be all fancy and only manage to make things worse. I am feeling inept. And now going to bed.

My brother...the engineer

Clay

Sometimes I like to forget that my story is just a small part of God's big story.
I like to think that my story is the ONLY story, and God is just a part in it.
I like to tell the potter He should really shape me in a different way, because the current molding process is no fun and I don't like it.
And it's all about what I like.
And then, when I finally come to my senses, I'm so thankful He does things His way and when my story once again aligns with His big story I can truly become CONTENT.

NPR and Chocolate Chips

I was listening to NPR this evening. Not really because I'm interested in the current happenings of the world, I rely on Yahoo news for that. Seriously, NPR was discussing the recent Hudson river airplane crash (I bet seat belts made a big difference, by the way) and lo and behold it was on the front page of Yahoo news, with pictures and everything. Who says Yahoo isn't a reliable source of news?

So, maybe I wasn't itching for the news, but I was listening mainly for nostalgia's sake. My entire growing up life I remember waking to the "morning edition" music. Da da da da da da da da da da da da da da da! For those of you not familiar with the morning edition music tune, then all of those da's were completely random and useless. If you are familiar then please sing along. I know I did. I also remember listening to morning edition while eating a bowl of oatmeal. Not the pansy kind of cinnamon, spice, sugary oatmeal, but the real deal. The bland, tasteless real deal. Which is why my dad would let us stir in chocolate chips. FIFTEEN to be exact. Really, really exact. My dad was a wise man. He quickly learned children can spot a miscount in chocolate chips very quickly. Vitamins, no. Peas? Hardly! But if one sibling gets even ONE extra chocolate chip the offending parent will very quickly hear about it. So we each got FIFTEEN, our eagle eyes made sure of it.

While waiting for the oatmeal to come to its fruition we would line our chocolate chips like little teardrop soldiers around the edges of our bowls. Of course my brothers would make wailing cries of the fallen as they snipped each chocolate man into the boiling sludge. I wanted to be like my brothers very badly, but somehow my chocolate chips always seemed to make pretty melting chocolate patterns on the top of my oatmeal. Funny how listening to NPR can trigger childhood memories. And now I'm sorta craving some oatmeal. The REAL kind, with exactly FIFTEEN chocolate chips.

Stress

I found this post in my draft file. I think I was waiting to post this a little farther from the actual incident when my sister might be more inclined to think it funny rather than insulting. Hopefully now is the time, because here it is:

I work in a hospital. People die. This is stressful. Two weeks ago, two patients of mine died in two consecutive days. This was stressful.

My sister works in retail. People are rude. This is stressful. Last week, my sister says "I had such a hard day, it was so stressful." I reply, "Did someone die?" For some reason, my sister missed the humor in this.

Time-Space Continuum

I was out shopping yesterday. Stay with me, this is exciting. Or more like, a rare insight into my mind. Which can be exciting. So, I was out shopping. I was looking for a particular game, namely, the Game of Scattergories. (Terrific game, if you've never played it and you're looking for a terrific game to play.)

I stand looking at this massive wall of games. Floor to ceiling, every game ever made, from chutes & ladders to cranium, it's all there in it's glorious game delight. My eye's scroll up, they scroll down, left right. Where is the terrific Game of Scattergories? My mom is always telling me I don't look for things hard enough and can't expect them to just jump out at me. That's mainly when I'm looking for a pair of shoes I've left at their house. And then they're usually found underneath something and I was really only wandering around the house expecting them to jump out at me. I mean, they belong to my feet, so you'd think the shoes would want to be reunited. The whole jumping out thing makes perfect sense to me.

But remembering my mother's advice I crouch low and read each game title. I peer high, looking behind boxes of different games. Finally, finally, I must admit defeat. No games jumping out at me. My eyes aren't detecting anything. I ask for help from the red-shirted worker-helper man. He gets out his cool scanner ray gun.

"According to this, it should be right here." He says, pointing to a space not filled with the terrific Game of Scattergories, while gazing into the digitizing main frame. I'm totally having a Sci-fi moment. And I almost, ALMOST, say in return, "Maybe it's been lost in the time/space rift that is located at precisely this point. So it IS right here, but in a different dimension. Cue Twilight Zone: Doodoodoodoodoodoodoodoo..." but I refrain. No point in scaring the poor salesman. But maybe someday, when I least expect it, it WILL jump out at me from that alternate dimension...along with my missing sock.

Smiley-face Saturday

My baby sister is always helping my mom find hearts for her blog. So I ask her to help me find smiley faces for my blog. It's only fair, right? She grabs my hand and a pen, and before I know it, I have a smiley face for my blog.
Happy Smiley Face Saturday! :)

Fear of Bugs

Often when working in the medical profession one can get a case of hypochondria. I have a headache equals I have a brain tumor. My toe aches equals bone cancer. A sore throat automatically equals strep, and don't even get me started on chest pain. We love to diagnose our friends and family, and they are more than happy to share their aches and pains. It's a win win situation really. But sometimes, if you let it, it can start to fester and grow in your mind. A little bit like an infection. Which is the source of my post, an infection. And the source of the infection was my poor patient's urine. It was diagnosed with VRE. Vancomycin-resistant-enterococci. Say that ten times fast. That's why we in the medical world like to shorten everything into acronyms. Much more convenient. Anyway, VRE is an especially potent little bugger that likes to share it's defences with other bacteria. Kind of it, don't you think? I went to some websites to see the likelihood of someone exposed to VRE becoming a carrier or contracting the disease, like myself. Basically, the only documented cases of VRE have happened in a hospital. If you don't want to get VRE, don't go to a hospital. Well, that's lovely. Another website says to avoid contact with people who have VRE. That's rather a no-brainer, but thanks. Today, being my day off work, I keep thinking I'm feeling ill. I'm warm... do I have a fever? I feel a bit achy. My stomach feels queasy. Am I infected? Or is it all in my head? All this to say I'm a bit paranoid I'm a carrier and if I ever take antibiotics for anything it'll attack me. And one more thing, if you ever shake my hand, you might want to strongly consider washing yours quickly after.

Ice, treachery...doughnuts!

I was driving to church early this morning. There was a beautiful glazed doughnut look to the world as I made my way on the sandy sprinkled road. But it very quickly changed from a pastry world into a dark and treacherous vegetable world. The asphalt roads began to take on an eggplant sheen with no fun sprinkles in sight. Unlike my usual self, I was exercising caution and restraint by going UNDER the speed limit. Cue surprise gasps.

It played out like a horror movie. The oblivious driver, singing to happy-go-lucky tunes on the radio, as ominous music begins play. This is to let you know something ominous is about to happen. And then it did! My car swiveled out of control and hit the snow! Then my car made it's very own snow-car-angel and I was facing the wrong way in a ditch of frozen snow.

Here is where I began thanking God for many things. First, I wasn't dead or injured. Second, I hadn't hit the tree three feet away from me. Third, I wasn't wearing heels or flats or a skirt like I usually wear to church. Fourth, a kindly farmer in his big sturdy truck stopped about two minutes after the horror moment and was able to push me out of the ditch with the help of three teenagers also in a big sturdy truck. In fact, I think I was the only one not in a big sturdy truck who was braving the back roads. This should inform everyone of the intelligence of my decision. But I was soon on my way again and left the eggplant behind me and everything became spun sugar and sweetness again. The End.

Moral of the story: Don't eat eggplants.

Smiley-face Saturday

My mom takes pictures of hearts occurring in life every Thursday. I see smiley faces occurring in life everywhere. I now declare Saturday as smiley face picture day. :) Okay, so maybe it's a one eyed smiley face, but maybe that's because it's eye was poked out in a tragic accident as it saved a little girl from certain death! So don't stare, it's impolite. Poor, brave smiley.

Question

Why do Airplanes have seat belts but Buses don't? Think about it. Please fasten your seat belt as we prepare to plummet to the earth. The seat belt will save you from the impact. Riiiight. But buses, because they own the road, will NEVER get in an accident.

Any other ideas why this discrepancy exists?

Resolution

New Year's resolutions. You know, the ones you make sporadically as you start the ten minute count down: 10-9-I-vow-to-loose-ten-pounds-2-1... happy new year! Or the premeditated list of top ten things you WILL do this year that you had been planning to do last year but only managed to read a third of war and peace and then just gave the whole list up as lost. Speaking of which, LOST, I mean, not new years resolutions, but the show, I vow to not miss an episode this year. So I will actually understand whats going on. Like when they zoom up on a face and a look of significance is exchanged, and if you'd seen the previous episode you would've known why there was a look of significance and then you can scream at the television : "I knew it all along! Whuahhahahahah!"
Back to resolutions. I'm easily distracted. Maybe I vow to become more focused. Or go to bed on time before work. But I'm not doing that right now because of my actual resolution. Which, I almost forgot to do and the new day of the new year isn't even over yet. Sad. So here's to my chances of keeping this one: I vow to blog every single day. Excited, aren't you?