I've made a list of plot scenarios from the Plot Scenario Generator, and this is number two. Number Fracken Two! I've wasted enough time on this one, and frankly, I don't know how to end it. If anyone has any ideas, let me know!! I've rewritten and tossed and rewritten this so many times I just want to forget about it for a bit.

Plot Scenario Generator:
The story starts when your protagonist can't get a cab.

Another character is someone from another galaxy who has been spying on your protagonist.
(I even started reading The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy and the Phantom Tollbooth and re-read A Wrinkle In Time for inspiration.)

---

Though fairly tall and only somewhat attractive, Jack has only been on the third date four times his entire life. The first time being with an experimental girl in high school he dated because he firmly believed that he needed someone to practice being in a relationship with; the second was with a girl who used him to get over her pathetic, yet successful, ex, and who, on the third date, realized she'd be better off by herself than with any man; and the third being with his overly religious coworker whose faith he found drawn to simply because of her fanatic energy towards it. When this last one ended on the third date because she decided Jack smoked far too much than what is deemed healthy by scripture, he realized something must be wrong with him.

Much pressure was then put on his third date with Ashley, considering his bad luck with third dates. Everything went badly this night: Being agitated from limiting his smoking to half a pack, he fought very hard to ignore the constant twitch of his fingers and the constant oncoming nicotine cravings he felt. Then, sweating profusely, his shirt, particularly the area under his arms, were drenched, causing a certain stiffness in his walk incase he might offend Ashley with his body odour. All this made Jack appear like a ridged twitch, unable to hold up a conversation because, along with his limit of cigarettes, he vowed to limit his smart aleck jokes which usually made up the bulk of anything he ever had to say, and therefore he had nothing to say except compliments paid towards her.

Ashley was bored. Even the all you can eat clams couldn't entice her to stay longer. Her initial attraction to Jack dissipated quickly, and before the waiter could suggest tea or coffee, she gave a sudden outburst of realizing she had forgotten to feed her cat, Mr. Whiskers, who must be starving to death by now, and whom she must get home to. Jack gallantly paid the bill and outside he told her he'd hail a cab for her, though with no success.

"The bus is just across the street," Ashley said, overcome with the awkwardness of the situation. There was still a part of her that wanted to appear kind and appealing to Jack, though she made up her mind that there were no chances their relationship could ever blossom.

"Haha, no, just er, wait. I'll get you a cab," He said, flailing his arms to try and catch the attention of an oncoming cab. The driver, seeming intent on ignoring Jack and his sweaty underarms, drove past him.

After five more minutes, Ashley lost all intent of appearing well and only having Mr. Whiskers in her mind, left Jack and crossed the street where luckily, the bus had just arrived.

"Ah screw it," Jack said, lighting a cigarette. Sadly, even this somehow failed to satisfy his craving.

On his way home Jack didn't know what to do with himself. It seemed to him that everything he did was a waste of time, and had no interest in anything but perhaps smoking steadily, even his approaching dragon boat race with the Banana Boats couldn't excite him. He longed to be somewhere far away, maybe on a deserted island where he his chief occupation would be surviving for himself only, gathering wood and making shelter and killing the occasional pig to roast.

This happy imagination occupied the rest of his thoughts on his way home, and just as he was imagining his perfect companion on the island with him - a shipwrecked female and a vulgar pet parrot - he suddenly became aware that the door to his apartment was unlocked. Annoyed that he might have left if unlocked himself, he stepped inside to the smell of toast.

Before he could shout, "Who's there?" Mrs. Howsit popped out of the kitchen in front of him.

"Hello Jack, I'm just helping myself to some toast, hope you don't mind. Do you have tea? Coffee? Anything besides juice?" And then noticing that she had been rather rude said, "Sorry, should probably introduce myself. I'm Mrs. Howsit, you've probably heard of my cousin, Mrs. Whatsit and her friends, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Which. Sadly, I'm their much less traveled and far less interesting counterpart. I'm only here because I've been spying on you from a galaxy far, far away, as cliche as that might sound, but I really can't explain myself any better than that, as much as I've tried to think of how to better explain myself in your language. As you probably already know, we don't speak English in our far, far away Galaxy, Jack, and everything here is very amusing to me, as Mrs. Whatsit told me it would. English is such a limiting language, don't you agree?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Bemused, Mrs. Howsit, who seemed to be unable to limit her nonsensical talking, went on to explain how language in her part of the galaxy worked, which frankly, from the bits that Jack tried to understand, thought that it was far too complicated. This so called 'woman' in his apartment was dressed in the most peculiar way; her figure, seemingly dumpy at first, might have actually been rather small, hidden away by the layers of oversized shirts, bulky sweaters, jackets, and scarves tied around her neck and head that caused her dumpiness. Her skirt was long and overbearing with tassels hanging loose and wore large, distressed boots.

It soon occurred to Jack that this woman, this 'Mrs. Howsit', might just be a homeless woman who wandered into his apartment. Feeling suddenly sympathetic for himself, Jack let her babble on as he settled on his sofa to contemplate on how to kick her out.

"And that is how I learned to tesseract, although I still have to think of a way to prevent that stretched feeling I get. You know, if only I could teach you how to tesseract, then maybe your evening with Ashley wouldn't be quite so disastrous."

Jack was pulled out of his own thoughts. "How do you know about my date with Ashley?"

"Never mind about that," Mrs. Howsit said with sudden indignation and flick of her hand, "That reminds me, I haven't told you why I'm here. Did you know, Jack, that throughout my study of happiness - for I'm actually a Chief Observer of Happiness in my far, far, away galaxy, and not just some crazy old stalker as you're thinking this moment - that people's unhappiness are caused by their belief to be happy? And that people's shattered dreams could help them realize the purpose of a dream, so a dream of any kind, should be enough to make someone happy. Therefore in conclusion, and to sum up, I'm here to tell you that you're basing your happiness on the wrong things."

Compelled by this last thought, Jack forgot his go on with his plan of threatening her by calling the cops and asked, "Why is that?"

"Money, for one, cannot make you happy. Love, if un-noble and selfish, cannot make you happy. And this sudden chief preoccupation people have with themselves certainly cannot make them happy." Mrs Howsit paused and sat beside Jack. "And so I thought, why, Mrs. Howsit, you're just a Chief Observer of Happiness, not a Chief Doer of Happiness, why would you suddenly think of going to Earth to tell people how to be happy?"

Mrs. Howsit stared unblinking at Jack until he was compelled again to ask, "Why is that?"

---

And then my mind stops working. I need an ending!

With the onset of getting fewer hours and possibly quitting ELC in the very near future,  I decided to write one thing a day. Most of the time it will probably be stupid, sometimes meaningful, but the majority will end up in the garbage. This is the first of my "I Write For the Garbage" series.

Plot Generator:
The story starts when your main character opens the closet to find clothes that aren't his or hers.
Another character is a clone who doesn't like animals.

---
You can believe my surprise, Jane, to finding Terry's clothes in my closet, at first, but my initial surprise dissipated when I realized the Yeti must have willfully let the clone stay with us once again. The blue bloused tops and chiffon skirts wedged between the short sleeved and long sleeved shirts was utter disregard for the science I've organized my closet with: It's always sleeveless, short sleeves, long sleeves, shorts, pants, jackets, and then dresses - and mind you Jane, each category has to be sorted by colour. Personally, ROYGBV makes sense to me, so I follow it closely, and Terry's blue bloused top clearly didn't belong before my pomelo vest.

At first I pretended like it didn't bother me and said, "Look Terry girl, this here is a type blue and this here is a type of green, so maybe when they created you from cloning Merry they forgot to test you for something of your colourblindness, I'm pretty sure myself Merry isn't colourblind but her husband is."

Terry is not easily humoured, as you probably know, Jane. Remember last week when the goat got loose? The Yeti and the twins went mad yelling and chasing after it and when it made it's way to Old Benson's place we just prayed his appetite wouldn't be up for a full meal that night - that goat was pretty much as good as gone, walking like a suicidal act to Old Benson's place as that. Then, oh what a howl, you remember Jane, I was making my way in the door when I see Terry with a crowbar and the goat bleeting at it, Terry I mean. What a sight! We were in cahoots laughing at the clone, but Terry's terrified of animals or something, always going on about being assumed to be less than them.

Terry's the type of clone to make an assumption like that true, with the way she acts around animals. Ask your husband for me, and then ask about Terry's colourblindness. It's not that animals are better than clones, but sometimes they're easier to get along with. I like things organized: By colour, by size, or by usefulness; Terry's staying with me has caused a lot of arguments between us. I don't even know why she insists on using my closet for her clothes, she can very well just keep it in her suitcase seeing as how she might be out the door the next time she catches a whim.

When I confronted her all she said was, "You like using things the way they're suppose to be used, I'm only putting my clothes where they belong, in the closet."

Imagine that sass? I told her I wouldn't mind so much if she just followed my scientific flow of organization, and she goes on to calling me insipid! If she only knew what I say about her, people would think my words were make believe, and sometimes I wish they were. Really Jane, this Terry girl is more headache than she's worth, I only put up with it because the Yeti likes having her around. And you know how the Yeti is, if it's not happy it might not be seen for another year.

I've been perpetually trying to dye my hair.

I found three year old box of hair dye in my drawer last month and decided to give it a try - even though the possibility of ending up bald kept on pressing in my mind the entire 10 minutes I dared myself to use it.

When that didn't work, I bought a box of hair dye (it was on sale). I got cocky using it, thinking that I should be an expert with hair dying by now and didn't bother reading the instructions or the labels on the bottles. I mixed the tubes together and let it sit on my head for 30 minutes when I realized I had mixed the wrong things together and frantically squeezed the last tube in my hands to work it in my hair.

Needless to say, my hair is still black. Plus the nauseating smell of hair dye gave me a huge headache.

I don't know why I care so much. Hair is just hair. Since last December, I've gotten into the habit of putting coconut oil in my hair once a week, have been using a hair growth shampoo, and have been using different kinds of serums. I've also stopped torturing it with my straightener.

And if you guys are wondering, no, I have not noticed anything different. All this vanity is futile and the only reason I keep up with it is because I am too stubborn to stop.

Anyway, ever wonder how Korean guys have such beautiful hair? Sometimes it's so natural that it looks like their born with it - but I've found the secret.

It's been two years that I've been working at ELC now, and this entire time my best student friend, Andy, has baffled me with his magnificent tuff of hair. It's admittedly better looking than any of the girls' hair, hands down. Then he shared his secret with me: He uses a hair straightener.

Ho ho ho ho! Was my only response.

A guy who knows how to use a hair straightener properly is amazing. Ok going on a bit of a tangent: After my first year I met this guy who always had hair that was standing up; literally straight up from the roots to the tip. I always thought that he should have dyed it green because it was so uneven like any other patch of grass. One late night on MSN, he told me that his hair stands up like that because he uses a hair straightener. Seriously, I peed my pants laughing.

But Andy's different, he's Korean. He has mastered the art of the hair straightener and doesn't make his hair stand up, he uses it to make his hair perfectly, beautifully shaped.

I know some of you might think it's weird for a guy to be blow drying or even straightening their hair, but I appreciate it. It's better than having unkept hair and shows that they care about how they look to the general public.

And no, I won't be dying my hair again. I think I've wasted enough money on this entire hair dying business. I'm just going the old fashioned route and use hydrogen peroxide.

I have secrets scattered in my room hidden between the quiet spaces of my diaries. They're tossed everywhere, sometimes lying where I've dropped it years ago. It takes an eternity to fill one up, so far I go through one every five years. The one I'm working on now started in 2010, so it has roughly about two more years of putting up with me.

This is how I chronicle my life and to never forget those random days that mean nothing then, but ages well like fine wine through time.

Example:
August 15, 2010:
I have a little bit of time to waste before having to go to Ama's house for dinner so I decided to write here for a bit. Leo is coming back tomorrow and I am on vacation from work this week, I also have an exam to study for on Thursday.

Last Friday, I had lunch with Christine Yen and Hannah. Christine left to attend another year of her training, and we saw her just in time. We had lunch at Mr. Sub before Hannah and I went to Cecil to study. Hannah had to practice for her piano exam. We were there for a while before we had to go to Metro and buy snacks for Light House.

This week is the last week of our small group! This has been the best small group I've ever had, and everyone in the group is awesome. Unfortunately, I am am stuck with John for another year and I'm not in the same group as Tabitha :(

But yeah. After Light house we went to Ka Chi, then went home. It was a really long day. Next week is the Gr. 12 BBQ, how do I invite Matty to go there?

---

Chronicling life like this has helped me distinguish patterns and trends. For example, I've discovered that all of my major life events happen in May: I started this diary in May, this important person's bday is in May, I begun going out with so and so in May, I got a job in May, etc. The most dramatic moments happen from September - January, and February is a month for loosing friendships. My happiest times are usually from June to August.  

In middle school and high school, I wrote in three different diaries simultaneously: One for my deep dark secrets, one for the journal I felt pity for and couldn't bear to not use up, one for my friends to read, and another for my imaginative conversations.

I love these diaries. Sometimes I go through periods of months of not writing anything, only to feel like my head is heavy with memories I keep replaying. So I jot them down. Sometimes, I rewrite these memories and blog about them later. Mostly, I love them because I will never forget the moments I felt the most emotion, those times when you're crying and can't understand why, and the tears translate themselves into jumbled chicken scratch on paper. I look back and later realize these moments are caused by my family, that they're the ones who make me so frustrated and hopeless that the very seams of my fingers feel like they will explode.

Then there are the moments when you feel like you have to talk to someone but there's no one. This is when I get romantic and write them down so that I can later on share them with my husband, that one and only other person my 9 year old self decided would be the allowed to read my diary. Every one else will be locked up for trespassing on my thoughts.

Looking back, the reason I even began writing in diaries was when I discovered my mom's diary. When she was first married, she started one which went up to the time after my first birthday. I would read it and be boggled by my mom's humanity; that this person who conceived me had real thoughts and juvenile handwriting. Later my sister took over the diary and filled up the rest of the pages, which was a shame but Annabelle was always the better speller, so it didn't really matter to me.

My great-grandma died on my birthday this year. At least, this is how the story goes according to me. And as ominous as this sounds, my mom and I were in the car when we were stopped by a long funeral procession, all of which was followed by a freak snowstorm in March on the first day of spring. It was like the snow was trying to stop new life from springing.

Ok, so maybe I'm connecting dots where there are no dots to connect.

My great-grandma and I never had a great relationship partly because she always seemed on the verge of death. As a kid I had my grandma who seemed terribly old; then there was my great-grandma, who was older, frail, fragile, and surrounded by myths and legends. For some reason she never told me stories of herself directly, everything was reiterated by my bachelor uncles who poked fun at me.

One of which is that: "Did you know that she use to drink her pee? That's how she stays so healthy. Go ask her what it tastes like!"

Which scarred me for the rest of my life and caused me to be extremely suspicious of her every time she went to the bathroom.

Other stories that surrounded her was her vegetarianism and Buddhism. I don't know how, and I never asked, but she was always a Buddhist while the rest of my family is Christian. I've never seen her go to the temple but she use to sit and pray for hours and hours, her thumbs moving rhythmically through her prayer beads. "A prayer for Ann Ann, a prayer for May-Ann, for Margaret and Andrew."

My mom is affected by her death more than I probably realize. The older she gets the more family oriented she becomes, which in my opinion is too late because we're all past the age of needing motherly affection. At least I am.

The other day my mom actually went in my room and cleaned it. She has never, ever in my entire life done this, which is odd because I know normal mothers clean up their kids room all the time. It was such a bizarre phenomenon that I went through all my drawers going, "Huh, so that's where she put that, I wonder why."

It's like we've reversed roles. I use to go in her room, poke through her cosmetics, clothes, and jewelry wondering how to use these things and why women had to be so complicated. Now she's the one poking through my stuff, wondering how to use it. She asks, "Ann, how do you use your ipad? What about your hair straightener? Can I have your blush and lipstick - what about your curling iron?"

I was reflecting on all this tonight because we just had dinner with my grandparents. My grandparents, especially my grandma, are the cutest people I know and I don't think I love anyone more than I love her, party because she's human, imperfect, proud, humble, and loves me back. I guess because of my great-grandma's death my mom finally realized that maybe she should love my grandma back as well.

Today my mom said, "Ann, you should love your grandparents."

I couldn't even answer her, it was like she doesn't know me.

To my lack of reply she says, "And you should spend more time with them. They won't be around for long, you know. Cherish every moment with them. I'm going to visit them because I love them - oh and I love you too!"

All of this, I should probably say, was done through text.

I guess this entire post won't make sense without really understanding the dynamics between my mom and grandma, which simply put is that they have a hard time tolerating and standing each other. Eerily enough they look 100% alike, my mom is the younger version of my grandma; it's like a weird time warp of you hating your past self and hating your future self all at once. So for my mom to say, "I love my mom" is just as weird as having her clean my room.

And where is Annabelle? My sister seems to have floated off to lala land. While Matthew and I are sharing a bowl of corn beef she's in her room chatting away with Vinay. Not that I resent their engagement or resent the fact that her head seems to be stuck in exam and Vinay land, it's just that I hope she realizes how much she's changing everything for everyone. Which she probably doesn't. I don't think I would ever have the guts to do what she's doing - not the get married and engaged part - the part where she breaks down and builds up and tears apart our family dynamics. A lot of people say that Annabelle seems to be the more mature one, but what I think they're missing to see is that that's not the case at all. As shocking as this sounds, I'm probably more independent than Annabelle. The real difference is that she's not afraid to adjust life to fit her needs while I'm too calculated with my movements.  

Dear Friends, I'm about to get close and intimate with you by revealing a nasty secret: I have a wart. And I know it's a wart because I made my dear sister stare long and hard at the bottom of my foot to determine what it is.

Me: How do you know it's wart and not a callus? 

Annabelle: Because it's round with spots.

Me: A callus can be round and have spots.

Annabelle: Does it give you acute pain?

Me: Yes.

Annabelle: Don't worry, it will go away in three months.

Me: But, how do you know it's wart and not a callus?

Annabelle: Look, do you want me to show you the picture in my text book or what? It's a wart.

Clearly from this conversation Annabelle knows what she's talking about. 

On a side note: What am I going to do when Annabelle gets married? Who will look at my warts then? Am I going to have to start going to a real doctor?

Anyway, I developed this callus-wart at work because Holy Cow guys, my feet are killing me and it's ridiculous how big my calves are getting. All this half standing, half running around and breaking a sweat has resulted in very painful feet.

Speaking of work, I've met some very interesting people recently. Here's a list:

1) The Eerily Tanned Designer

I ran into this eerily tanned woman today who wanted to buy two cribs for her twin boy-girl grandchildren (eerily tanned because it's frickin' snowing outside in the middle of April. Where did this tan come from?). So it's Thursday afternoon, a time when normal people are at work, but this woman is not normal, she's luxurious. She's been to Arizona many times before and has been to countless Targets, so she knows the merchandize and what to expect. 

She told me straight up that she wanted this crib and she wanted to know whether it would fit in her Lexus SUV and if it didn't, whether or not I can jot down her phone number so I can call her for whatever reason. The entire time she had her blackberry in her hand showing everyone pictures of her grandchildren. She became visibly angry when her daughter wouldn't pick up the phone and give her the time of day.

This woman is fantastic. She is the epitome of brand name products and was probably only shopping here because she wants to tell everyone where she shops. Just the fact that I know so much about what products and brands she has within the 20 minute conversation we had shows you just how high she puts a value on her brand names.

2) The Lonely Shopper

There is an entire specimen of undocument people out there who are lonely shoppers and they are fantastic at telling you what you are lacking and then talking about their entire retail experience history. 

They come in many different forms, and today I met the shaggy bearded kind. This guy was looking for oregano, but we didn't have any so I took my nifty gun and scanned the barcode to show him we didn't have any in the backroom. I thought that was that, but he was so fascinated by the scanner gun that he followed me from one end of the store to the other talking about his retail life. 

First he said: "At No Frills they don't even bother checking. They just tell you straight up that they don't have it without even checking. That's a neat thing you have."

Me: "Thanks. We try to have good customer service."

Shaggy Beard: "I mean even if you were just lying to me and didn't really scan it I appreciate that you still tried."

Me: "But I didn't lie to you, I showed you it said there was nothing in the backroom."

Shaggy Beard: "I know BUT even IF it was a lie. At No Frills they don't even bother."

Me: "Well let me know if there is anything else you need help with."

Shaggy Beard: "Do you have wool?"

Me: "No."

Shaggy Beard: "My mother is looking for wool. I'll tell her you don't have it. Why don't you have wool? This is Canada. People here need wool. That big guy up there is making $120, 000 a year and he can't even send people to, to places like Walmart and Zellers to see what they are selling and try to have the same items. My mother wants wool. Interesting how you don't have it." 

And on and on he went. As you can see, this guy is a lonely shopper, 1) He's shopping for his mother, on a random Thursday afternoon, how much lonelier can you get; 2) He's a shopper. He knows his retail store and has been around, and like the Eerily Tanned Designer, he knows his brands and products. I thought it was interesting how he refers to the CEO of any company the 'big guy up there', which is usually the idiom for God. Lonely Shoppers have their gods too. (And one of their Ten Commandments is: Thou Shall Not Lie About What You Have In The Backroom To Customers with a footnote saying: Always consult scanner gun first.)  

3) The Novel Writing Major

No joke guys, my new coworker is a Novel Writing Major at George Brown. What! I don't even understand how. I wonder what the employment rate is like for this program, I wouldn't be surprised if it has the lowest employment rate of any program George Brown offers. 

But working in retail is probably the best hands on experience she can get for this. There are a lot of crazies out there, enough to have enough material to write a longer and crazier series than Terry Pratchett's Discworld series.  

Eddie keeps on telling me not to burn myself out because looking back, I don't think I planned this past week out very well. I knew I had to set up decor on Thursday, prep and help out with the dinner all of Friday, be on JAM for Saturday, and then be ready for the children's ministry on Sunday on top of working almost 50 hours. I was so exhausted that by the time I rolled into work on Saturday morning everyone told me I looked like I was just hit by a bus.

I didn't plan on getting sick! That's the one thing I should have probably thought about. I was coughing, sneezing, and blowing my nose so much that I should have probably called in sick at some point, or you might be thinking, that I should have skipped all my 'church activities' and just rest. But the way I see it, if I'm not going to call in sick for work, why would I call in sick for God's work?

I learned a lot about serving this week. Here's a list:

1) I volunteered to do the decor for the Spring Banquet. I've never really thought about whether I like doing decor or not, but since no one else was doing it, I decided to do it. In the past, Ariel or Lynette or someone else took care of it, but sadly, they're both gone now.

If you're ever curious about what God's will or place for you in the Church life is, all you have to do is do something. Fill in the empty shoes, start something, plug yourself in somewhere - then as you're doing these things in the Spirit, you'll realize that you're doing God's will. Often we're always trying to figure out what God's will for our lives are, but really, God already told us. The song "Jesus, All For Jesus" one line goes, "For it's only in Your will that I am free." God's will is for us to be free in Him and be led by the Spirit.

Summary: When there's a lack, fill it in even if it's different from your usual role. Most often in the Church life, we don't get to pick where God puts us to work.

2) So after I took up the ginormous task of decor and games, I told myself that I either do everything 100% perfectly or just give up because there is no point of doing something half-heartedly for God. It's no surprise that OBVIOUSLY with this mindset I felt extremely overwhelmed, frustrated, and annoyed; especially when certain people who were committed to help me out disappeared or complained the entire time.

What do you do?! I don't know, someone tell me. At Target, we have huddles where we vent out our frustrations and tell each other what is making us feel overwhelmed. At church you can't do it because 1) These people are your friends and 2) You don't yell at people at church. It's just wrong.

It was at some point I realized that God won't care if not all the pinwheels had buttons in the middle or that not everything matched or that the photo-booth does not look perfect. Who cares! What's more important is that I don't loose my temper and put myself in a situation where God can't speak to us because my emotional outburst.

Apology: Sorry people if I ever glared at you or gave you the silent treatment. That is my way of stopping myself from yelling at you and saying a lot of vulgar words. I will heed Clement's Yoga Master's Wise Words and try to control my breathing in situations like these.

3) God is always there to help. I don't have an definite example during the weekend for this one, but it's that feeling that things just work out for the better because God's taking care of you and understands what you're worried about. Does this make sense? It better.

It's things like, while frantically preparing 2 hours before the dinner Catherine suddenly appearing and making the photo-booth look 100x better, or Yong and Jacob suddenly appearing with props, or suddenly finding that obscure looking hat in the obscure corner of the church basement that was perfect for the photo-booth, or Del suddenly showing up to fix the tables and set up the mic, or Jane just always being an arms length away when I need her.

Take home lesson: When everyone else flakes on you, depend on God.

So that's it. After this weekend, I think Easter is my favourite holiday.
1) It's spring! Pastel colours and flowers galore.
2) It is very humbling to remind ourselves of God's sacrifice for us and that the most amazing gift for us to receive is an empty tomb.
3) Easter cakes are 100% delicious. At work someone baked this gigantic cake was devoured in seconds. Also, Pedro came home with a bunch of Portuguese easter cakes (one of which had an actual egg). Most amazing cake I've ever had.
4) The long weekend.
5) It's the one time in the year when you're allowed to ask, "So how long haven't you been to church?" without offending anyone.
6) Today I went to church, then Tako Sushi, then slept, then to Congee Queen, then ate a bunch of cake, and then slept. Best day ever.