Act of God

As it turns out the media, they were right . . . with all their doom and snowy gloom . . . and I do have a snow day today. My mother called around 7:30 a.m. as I was dreaming about someone having stolen my couch (rather my fault, as I had moved it to a public area . . . but I thought my brother was going to watch it) and so I was dozing, waking up every so often to think, "No, my couch is still in the living room."

"YAY. Snow day! You were wrong." my mother says from the phone. I think she enjoys waking me up on snow days, as she has done it for all three. Maybe she is on Mr. Crabbypants' "don't waste the day" plan . . . or she's sadistic, I'm not sure which. She knows I'll be sleeping when she calls.

I proceed to tell her how this day off is messing up my plans for the day. The yearbook was due on Monday, but the thing the company doesn't tell you: they don't look for it until Wednesday at midnight. So I could have made the deadline and still had the "award winning yearbook" tag on this yearbook (because you get an award for being on time -- lame, but it looks good on the P.R. materials). My boss has to look over everything (we are a prior review school) and the kids, they took it to the wire. So it's still in the review stage. Plus, I'd like to teach my other students something this month . . . maybe some non-fiction terminology, the understanding of autobiography . . . something.

"Consider it an Act of God, and give it up, Emily . . ." my mother says, and I struck by how this applies to many other areas of my life. Surrender to the fates. Go limp and take it. I was never good at this. Consider it an Act of God.

So God, through this act, will allow me to work out earlier and go to the mall. I just shoveled my walk. I might try to start the truck, as I have not driven it in . . . well, a while . . . and if it doesn't start, I'll consider it an act of God too. Incredibly freeing, the act of God.

Now if I can just figure out why I took all my living room furniture to Cobo hall (actually, it looked amazingly like a warehouse) and why they only stole the couch. I remember dreaming . . . "but, I can't replace that couch . . . I got it on sale . . . " Craziness.