Ecclesiastical Emilie

I feel like I'm Solomon, I feel like throwing my hands in the air and wailing, "Meaningless! Meaningless! All is meaningless under the sun!" How come no one seems to ever fall into these existential gripes like I do?

I think it's just because my allergies blocked off proper flow of oxygen to my brain and now I'm half delusional. When I was young, I used to sleep with my head under my cover. I still remember when my mom found out about it, she gave me such a look of dismay and worry. I think she has feared ever since that her daughter has been permanently brain damaged.

Maybe my existential gripe is related once again to my dramatic encounter with the three Chinese Christians of yesterday. They were so enthusiastic, so fervent, so full of urgency, I thought for a second that somehow I wasn't converted enough, and they were trying to reconvert me again. I on the other hand, I couldn't quite manage to dredge up sufficient enthusiasm for this subject. Which subject? Yes, the subject of finding Christian hubby. Is it truly that that important? I think I just want a sexy lover, preferably from a foreign country. Of course, to be faithful to my inner solomon, that too will ultimately prove to be meaningless. Damn, woman, you are hard to please!!

In other news, today's weather absolutely frickin stinks! My nose loudly protested having to be subjected to such harsh conditions that it promptly shut down all facilities but very spitefully turned on the faucets. I was the dirty snotty little kid in the first grade, with a perpetual tissue wiping at the nose all day long. I felt miserable and I'm sure everyone who saw me felt equally miserable.

I think I should go to bed early today and repeat Scarlet O'Hara's mantra to myself over and over and over, "Tomorrow will be a better day." Under the covers, of course.