If I was Jodie Foster, I'd probably be in my Panic Room right now.
Either that, or if I was Sookie St. James I'd be heaving into a brown bag.
But since I am neither, I'll stick with the typical heart-pounding, pull-out-my-hair whole ordeal.
Or at least, I'll try not to panic at all.
Pray, pray, pray.
What happened to the peace I had all semester? How do I know what God's real peace is like? How do I know it's not just my own psychological head messing with itself?
It's not about positive thinking.
It's not like all the consequences are going to disappear.
Oh gosh. I can't wait until this week is OVER.
And I have these mysterious bruises in such strange places. I have no idea where they came from. Either I'm really klutzy and don't even know it, or Michelle's beating me up in my sleep.
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