I nurse a painful ulcer that follows me wherever I go - it's not going to leave anytime soon, although I hope it would. I really hope so - talking while feeling spasms of pain going through my body, not good. It's located on my lower lip, so no thanks, no kissing this week, thank you.
Not good.
We're going to continue with Bach BMP next week! So that means that they didn't play my piece yesterday, they're playing it next week. In a logical sequence.
I'd like to mention today about the power of holy water - holy water is water that has been 'exorcised' or blessed by a priest, usually in the faiths of Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Old Catholic. Yeah, blah, you know them. Don't think they use it in Christianity though.
The thing is, every single Sunday, without fail, I'll wake up with a cold, and a sinus problem. So I'll be sneezing for the first few hours of the morning (which goes into church time), and my nose would be running, and at the same time, clogged up. Call it a hangover from Saturday nights which I often spend till late or what, but it happens.
And no, prayer hardly works for this case. I haven't tried it yet but I might.
This Sunday morning was a little different though - I was sleeping at the living room sofa bare-chested, with the fan on full-blast. But anyway I woke up all bleary-eyed and leaky-tapped. Dragged my feet to the showers, and then onward to morning Mass.
This Sunday morning was a little different though - there was the scooping and sprinkling of Holy Water around the entire Church, presumably because it's the first Sunday of the month, and the entire congregation was splattered with Holy Water. Now the difference starts here.
You see, usually throughout the entire Mass, I was incapacitated, unable to sing or breathe properly. But today, yeah, you guessed it, I think the Holy Water really worked wonders. I think it's coincidence, but many a-times when there's the Lord in it and things work, we call it coincidence. Might be.
Heck, it wasn't even the Placebo effect:
1) I didn't realise there was water being splattered on our books and our bodies because I was simply too knocked-out to realize anything. I was just following the notes and the words on the hymn book.
2) I didn't realise the water was holy water because I was simply too knocked-out to realize anything. I was just following the notes and the words on the hymn book.
3) I didn't realise I was still nursing the cold because I was simply too knocked-out to realize anything. I was just following the notes and the words on the hymn book.
Moments later I was feeling much better. Like much better, and that was when I realized the priest was scooping and sprinkling loads of Holy Water on us when he walked over a second time.
The Father in question was super enthusiastic because he was like, scooping a full scoop of water and whipping it on us, so much so that 10.45am Mass was nearly renamed 10.45am Water-Scooping Party Fun. It wasn't, we were Blessed, and we settled down for Mass.
Thank the Holy Water. Today's Mass was also made more interesting because the Father was using sign language together with his sermons, which made it more accessible for the deaf and for the non-deaf who wanted to use sign language to communicate. Seriously. I think I would like to be in the latter too, just that I'll have to take like, 3 Eclipses before I start speaking. Closing your mouth for an extended period of time causes major bad breath.
What happened the day before:
I'll be honest, but I was feeling a little under normal and tired too. Firstly because I didn't get to pass a present and secondly because...because...there's no secondly. Don't ask me why I was feeling down just because of not passing a present but it's just the Jonathan instinct.
Make it the human instinct. I don't want to make myself sound so special. Got home, changed, down on the sofa. No big deal. The black sofa in the living room has been my sleeping area of late - I think I'm getting too lazy to walk all the way to the bedroom.
You, however, can look at it in two ways:
1) I'm too lazy.
2) My house is damn big.
I prefer the latter. Self-criticism is bad for health, ain't no good babe.
Talking about self-criticism, do they have a phobia for talking to girls on the phone? Talkofemaleonphonophobia. I don't know. I'm pretty sure I do have a phobia. Or look, even talking to girls face-to-face, I'll get nervous. Talkofemalefacetofacophobia. Do any guys even have that problem? Don't think so. Yeah, I have low self-esteem then. Certified a piece of useless junk.
I'm not surprised if this one has the vibes around me: Please don't mate with me, I have very lousy genes that make me look short, which is bad for the human gene pool and not good for the evolution of the human race. You must follow the nature of human and not proceed to mate with me, thank you.
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