December 4, 2010: Armageddon

When I was in Buenos Aires, we made weekly visits to an old gray haired, blue-eyed woman named Hermana Banegas. She had pointy spread out teeth and whenever we would greet her, she would be chewing food between them and then would kiss us on the cheek. I always cringed a little, but her big heart made it hard to be too disgusted. She called me "Mi muneca" or "my little doll." She always had the greatest stories -- most of them made up, I'm sure -- but nevertheless, we would sit there and act amazed, even after the fourth time hearing the same tall tale. There was one story, however, confirmed to be true by outside sources. Hermana Banegas is a gypsy. Her journey to becoming a gypsy is a little fuzzy these days, but I knew it involved her mother leaving her first husband, joining a band of gypsies, traveling with them, getting pregnant with one of them, and then I remember something about a magical mountain (LSD, maybe?). It was always an adventure meeting with her. One day in particular, however, stands out in mind.

It's not, after all, every day that you find out you're going to die.

For weeks she had been insisting on reading my palm. I resisted, for some reason thinking that that wouldn't be okay as a missionary. Finally, however, I broke down and stretched out my hand, which she took smiling. With a furrowed brow and her lip jutting out over her crooked, pointy teeth, she ran her finger across my palm. "Hmmmmm..." she murmerred. "What is it?" I asked. No answer. "Oh siiiiiiiiii....." she continued. "What?" I asked again. She began shaking her head, tsk tsking. "Hermana Banegas!" I said a little louder, thinking that her old ears were failing her. "Mi muneca," she finally replied. "You are going to die." Well, I was glad I hadn't payed her to do that, since, well, she's right. The weird part, though, was that she then said, "And I know when." Naturally, I exclaimed, "WHEN?!" to which she replied, "Ahhhh...this I cannot tell you." At that point I couldn't help but laugh. I mean, really, the situation was absurd, and I could still see food stuck in her gums between her teeth. I gave her a kiss goodbye on the cheek and we left her house. I hardly ever have reason to think about that palm reading, the day when Hermana Banegas predicted my death. -----That is, until now.

Yes, friends, I have signed up for the GRE. It has been payed for in blood and there is no turning back. I have been anything but motivated to study for it. I started back in June. I tried again in September. And with exactly one month to go before I meet my Maker, I have tried again. But this is how my study session went:

Goal: Study for one hour from the math section.
Objective: To do well on the GRE
Reality: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz

I spent the hour sleeping at my desk, my head back, drool running down my neck. I don't see how I will ever fit all the information I need to remember into my small brain. I can take a small section, work on it, and then be tested on it -- no problem. But the material is too much! (Not to mention that I loathe it -- unadulterated loathing, no less). This is why I am convinced that my end is quickly approaching. I will not survive the disaster. You have my testimony of that on this blog. To my friends and family who read this, I will begin willing things away, so be sure to put in your requests. It's on a first come, first serve basis.

 There may not be earthquakes, suns as black as sackcloth of hair, or moon like blood. The stars may not fall from heaven, the heaven may not depart as a scroll, moving the mountains and the island out of their places, and the rocks may not fall upon me. But by golly, "the great day of his wrath is come."

December 4, 2010: Armageddon.