5:00am during that weird half awake, lucid dreaming, cursing the alarm clock and trying to snuggle closer to Mister, I heard this phrase... "That makes Jesus cry." At first I didn't know whether to bray laughter or to remain silent. It was so funny and out of place, but yet I felt strangely blasphemous with my urge to laugh.
I was trying to get my hefty rump out of bed because I was going to be late for work (yet again) if I didn't start hoppin. So I disentangled my limbs from the sweet sleeping man beside me and I heard him say in this precious voice that I shouldn't get out of bed because that would make Jesus cry.
I hate to admit it, but laughter won out. Tell me I'm not going to hell.
Disjointed Ramblings:
My co-worker has this large print of the Lincoln Memorial and it slightly oogs me out. Maybe it's just the size of his giant head.
Another oog out... I have a band-aid on my right middle finger. I feel un-bendy and kind of nauseated by the sight of the fuzz that had become sort of stuck to the edges throughout the day. Just me? Ok.