By Sunday night, I will have been to church four days in a row. Yay! Go, church!
How much holier can someone get?
.. Well, at least a normal someone. Priests, nuns, monks and other people, who have decided to marry Jesus, don't count.
Siiiiiiigh. Holy week is fuuuun (note the italics implying sarcasm).
Oh my gosh, I'm a horrible person! It's not that I don't totally love and appreciate God, but... actually, I think that I'll stop talking, now, because I don't feel like having lightning strike me anytime soon. As my mother would say, "You have to go and confess that to Jesus, now."
(I'm sorry, Jesus)
I wish that I wasn't too old to go to the church basement, during the homily, to colour pictures of Jesus and do mazes to heaven, and stuff. That was always fun. Oh, and educational, too. I mean, where else can you learn that connecting the dots from 1 to 50 will get you a lovely picture of Mother Mary?
... I miss being seven years old. Even though I was such a loser at seven years old. Even though I still act like I'm seven, sometimes.
