Pick a number, 1 through 3

After less than a perfect night's sleep, my dad wakes me up an hour before I would normally get up.

He has a sad look on his face when he says "Your mom called."

My mind immediately flies to him telling me that mom's collapsed at work or something.

Luckily, the next words out of his mouth ended that vision.

"She spoke to Nancy."

Nancy is the woman who is supposed to write my NEW letter of recommendation to Chatham...by TODAY. In my head, I see my dad saying she's the one that collapsed...she's going to the hospital....

Luckily, health-wise, everyone is okay.

But my dad's next words still confirm a little nightmare of my own:

"Nancy lost the forms she had to fill out and send to Chatham."

Bugger.

So I got up and as I waited the TEN minutes necessary to TURN ON the house computer so I could get online, find the necessary forms, re-print them, fill out my half, sign it, scan the papers back into the computer and send them to Nancy (an hour long process with this compy) I begin to contemplate life and stuff.

I come to one of three conclusions about my life and God:

1. He doesn't want me to go to grad school.

2. He wants me to go, but He really wants me to work for it.

3. I'm God's little joke. He's a fan of pointing and laughing.

I asked my dad to pick a number between one and three. He chose two...probably the best of the three options.