"Do you have a red Ferrari?" "Why, yes I do." "It's being towed."

So, Nat'l Treasure 2 was good. I'm always apprehensive about sequels...I think the sophomore slump thing applies to movies as well as music. Then again, when you go to a movie with the right people, it can't be that bad. Fortunately for everyone around us, we didn't have to make too many witty comments to make it interesting. Justin Bartha got enough nice lines, and it turns out there are lots of ridiculous federal crimes that can be committed for a good cause. I still think Nicolas Cage is losing hair though.



It's weird being back home, but I think I've adjusted all right. I must have slept for 11-12 hours a night last weekend though. My body basically said, "No more finals? Seriously? Yessss!" and kept conking out even when I didn't give it permission.

Wednesday I got to see everyone at church, and it felt like I was home from a war or something with all of the excited greetings I gave/got. Ya know, I really love those people. I hung out at Melissa's house afterwards, and we talked about our semesters, what had changed, and what was the same. And how scary it is that people our age are getting married.

Thursday a girl who was kind of my mentee for a while called to say that she just got engaged. Thanks for the heart attack, Angel...you're TWO WEEKS older than me! Agh. Anyways, he's a sweet kid and I basically made her promise me she'd have a long engagement. I can't run her life, and I haven't been in it enough lately to know what would be best. Prayer, maybe?

This week I worked close to 50 hours, and it's exciting to no longer be in food service. Even accident-prone Hannah finds it hard to burn herself while filing insurance certificates. Paper cuts, on the other hand...
I've started doing receptionist work also, which is new. I think I have an irrational fear of exchanging information with people I don't know and can't see (go ahead--laugh), so learning the phone has been interesting. I think I'm overcoming it, now that I'm not so worried about accidentally hanging up on someone important--I'll bet this is a valuable film-industry skill, also. "Hello, Mr. Spielberg? I know you're busy, but...uh...could I arrange a meeting?"

Since I worked so much this week, I could finally send in my BlackMac for the $800 repairs the water damage required. My roommate was thrilled that I won't have to edit my projects on her computer next semester. Three months without a laptop was rough, but if a film major could do it, anyone can. :)

Now I have a four-day weekend to relax, and two days to get the presents ready. Aaah. I like this "break" concept. Wonder if I'll be blogging like mad now that I have time?

"There's no way, 'cause you can't pay..."

Indebted.

This word has appeared in my consciousness oh-so-often over the past few days.

In elementary school, I was sometimes late to the table on Thanksgiving because I was too busy adding subheadings to my Christmas list. Later on, I began to understand the unwritten code of conduct: don't talk about what you want until you've smiled politely and told the family and God how much you like everything you already have. It seemed fair enough. Anyway, I knew the people in my life would be happier about buying me the obligatory presents--and maybe even get me extra--the more I mentioned how the Beanie Babies I got last year made a positive impact on my life. I almost enjoyed the pre-Christmas anticipation more than the actual event, because once the wrapping paper littered the floor and all suspense had vanished, the horrible knowledge of one thing would hang over my head like a dark bough of mistletoe: thank you notes.

I owe many things to my mother, and one of the biggest is the ability to properly show gratitude. I can't count how many times during my childhood (wow, I feel so old saying that...) I carefully explained to her that NO ONE ELSE had to write thank you notes. To her credit, my mom was not often swayed by the arguments of a fifth-grader. Every Christmas and birthday, the thank-you notes went out. I tried to amuse myself by picking interesting stationery and figuring out how many different ways I could say the exact same thing. Still, I was lucky if Mom had to remind me less than five times before I finished them. "Dear Aunt Lori, thanks SO much for the Bop It. I play with it a lot..."

Now, older and supposedly "wiser," I like thank you notes. No joke. Probably because I realize just how much effort and sacrifice goes into finding a present or offering help. And how little I deserve said effort and sacrifice. Egomaniac fifth grader that I once was, presents seemed like necessity, routine...right up there with washing socks and going to church. Now that I know myself better, I am further convinced that C.S. Lewis can read my mind.

"I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through. I want God, you, all friends merely to serve my turn."

In light of my own selfishness, I am more and more blown away by the number of people who are willing to sacrifice for me. To listen to me. And thank you notes seem utterly inadequate. Here I am at Biola, the "dream school" I couldn't afford. I just talked to my dad, who misses me a lot but has never yet laid on a guilt trip about my absence or my expenditures. Last night I was at Grandma's one room apartment, where she tried her hardest to fix me a beautiful meal with what she had on hand. Steak and macaroni never tasted so good. I'm typing this on Karyn's laptop, at her house where I've been invited to stay the night. They just bought me pens to replace all the ones I've lost this semester. :) And the Savior sees my inmost being, yet loves me more intensely than I could ever fathom.

I'm going to need more thank you notes.

Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected...

Here I am beginning another blog. Why? Who cares?

Maybe this will be good for me--my thoughts have been escaping too much as of late, and I have a feeling I'll want to remember everything I contemplate during these next four years.