I hate New York!
Okay, so I don't really HATE New York. I'm just stuck in my mother's hospital again. I had so many other options, like stay in my Tito Ron's apartment, get the key from Tita Precy and sleep in HER apartment, go to work with my Tita Evelyn on the train, or go with my Tito Jun.
All this would involve waking up at 6:30 AM. Sound early? I woke up at 3:20 this morning, my mother leaves at 5 AM. Let's have a quick quiz- what time did I fall asleep? 1:45 AM. So I had no sleep.
Being in a hospital, you'd think that there were at least couches in the office. Uh uh, no doing. I slept on office chairs.
My mother wanted me to go here because she wants me to type this big-ass book, it's like 300 pages of medical procedures. I can't read her handwriting, and she's in the operating room. I keep taking breaks but I know that she is going to freak when she finds out that only about 10 pages are done at all. UGH!
Anyway, I just thought of something. It relates to my faith- I am a relatively holy person, I guess- well, holier than most of the people in my school (who don't go to Church at all, call themselves athiests- strange, in a Catholic school, no?). Well, anyway, I'm definitely not a priest person- I dislike going to Mass because of the priest. But I'm not giving up God and caling myself an atheist because of some stupid guy who thinks he's Jesus up there.
So I was thinking about my life while trying to sleep on those plastic chairs. And I will say now, before I die, I want to be able to name SEVEN (it's a big number in Catholicism) miracles that have occured in my lifetime. Not blessings, miracles. The big stuff.
I've got one so far, and six to go. I'll write about it later (will be locked, but anyway). I'm sure that some people would be able to name the 1st miracle.