Yah-dee-Yah-Yah

I don't know why I'm in the mood to write. It's either Jessica Darling's fault, or I'm just tad too happy to not to. Why shouldn't I, anyway?

This holy week was really something...something really weird. For the first 3 holy days, I would always lie on the bed or on a couch or just somewhere with a flat surface to think about my purpose in life. I would raise these inevitable but bogus questions on my own, and it's answered by a process called "suicide attempt".

Some questions are:

1. Why are we living?
2. Does God really exist?
3. If so, where is He? I can't seem to find Him somewhere.
4. Is there even a reason to NOT to die? Isn't it that if we die, we would just eventually go somewhere and live again?
5. Why wouldn't we all just die, anyway?

I was manually channel surfing the other day when I came across this superficial and religious channel.

"It's easy to love God and love life when your problems seems to surpass you. But how about when your life seems to be a living curse? Would you still love God?"

I, for one, currently do not have 'real problems' - as my mom puts it. The only problem that I have is my weight, and how to look good not in the eyes of those beholders, but unto the eyes if God.

I caught 'The Island" on HBO last night. And it probably helped me to conclude that my inner human curiosity and boredom is making me try to kill myself. I'm a cat, and so I will be until that faithful day that I would finally die.

It was a great surprise that a great wave of miracle came my way yesterday. Let me tell you the whole story.

If you have been reading my blog last year, you would know that we did some station of the cross-ing last year. And so, we also did that yesterday. But this time, I know better than to rant about how many churches we should go in order to gain...I don't know. Enlightenment probably.

And guess what, after 5 months of doubting God and doubting my faith and doubting everything, it all ended with just a simple prayer to 14 churches.

Although there is no way that I would quit this slow death I'm going through, I would definitely be back on the track in kissing God's holy ass.

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For some reason, my upcoming birthday does not excite me.

How about now?
No.
Now?
No.
Nu?
Nr.
Maintenant?
Non.
Jetzt?
Nien.
Ora?
Seriamente, No.

Dad asked me the other day what I want for my birthday. I was about to say 'death', but that would just give him an impression that I'm turning pre-morbid and emo at the same time.

I was about to measure how long my eye bags are when Derek the dog sent me a message so grotesque. He was, indeed, asking my big, fat, dirty, and smelly hand in marriage. I replied, "R U Serious?" How text-nationed. Frankly, he said yes. And quite frankly, I replied, "Oh. Yeah well I'll chop it off for you." I don't even know when I got my sense of humor back. Turns out everyone likes joking about hands and marriages now.

Derek is a quasifriend of mine I met in an elevator on the way to the gym. I don't want to elaborate much about that for someone might be reading this entry and blab it to any of my relatives. "Oh! The horrors of meeting someone in an elevator! Shame, shame, shame!" I can imagine everyone's capillaries and veins bursting in my face now.

So, what's he got to do with my birthday dilemma? I don't even have an idea. All I know is that I want to skip the 20th of May. I wish God would do that, you know? Like, suck your life out and give you a tour of what would happen to you after death on your 16th birthday. How happy would that be.

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Sometime I wish I could be Jessica Darling.

I'll elaborate later.