Dear Friends,

If a short film were to be made of my life as it took shape this morning, it would be perhaps the most wonderful short film you had ever seen. Why? Because other people's pain is glorious.

I would now like to tell you about what I will forever remember as:
"the worst morning of my life."

To begin, remember when I fondly recounted the recent snowfall to you and told you it was glorious and made me feel like I was at home? Well, I have quickly learned that snow in Oxford is a wholly different entity than snow in Iowa. People in Oxford do not know what to do with snow. They definitely do not scoop it, but rather think it wise to take care of it by letting passers-by pack it down with their trendy Euro boots. They don't seem to understand that simply packing the snow down turns the footpaths into paths of death.

Thus, after spending an angst-ridden night, and for that matter, an angst ridden week, writing a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad essay on a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad topic, I ventured out for what would presumably be a most dismal tutorial.

Fortunately, the morning offered to me about 5 inches of beautiful, fresh, fluffy snow.

Unfortunately, the snow lost its appeal the first time I stepped in it with my low-rise, white sneakers and ankle socks.

I spent the next 35 minutes making the walk to University College to meet my tutor. This proved especially precarious on the hill that I usually refer to with lots of cuss words, as my shoes have not even a hint of traction. I fell and died only once, but since I was firmly clutching my frayed, red New Oxford Annotated Bible, God took note of my righteousness and saved me from sliding off the hill to be hit by the oncoming buses.

My growing angst at this point can hardly even be translated into the written word. Suffice it to say, within 5 minutes, my shoes, socks, and pant legs were thoroughly saturated. I was cold and with every step I took, continually at the risk of falling to a death I was starting to welcome.

When I arrived at last at University College, I leaned against the building wall with a crazed look in my eyes. Not only was Albus Andrew going to rip me to shreds for an hour, but he was going to rip me to shreds for an hour while I had sloshy, wet, cold feet. Unbridled angst held me tight in its grasp.

Nonetheless, I forced myself to go to his study one minute before 9.00--I no longer arrive early, because that translates into more time for my self-esteem to be crushed. However, when I got to the big red door that led to his office, the door without a doorknob was shut firmly. Since I had one time seen him get that door open by opening it trickily from the top, I thought perhaps he was now testing my physical strength as well as my mental strength. I thought to myself, "Albus Andrew! That is not kind of you! You know that I am really quite short. I cannot reach the top of the door in order to trickily open it like you do. Albus Andrew, I think your trick is beastly."

Thus, I began to knock loudly on the door, but not too loudly in case he was praying with someone or something awkward like that (I mean, he is a chaplain). Seeing as how this was to no avail, I sat dejectedly on the wooden stairs across from his office and thought about taking pictures of how angsty and forlorn I looked so I could entertain you with my most unfortunate situation. At this point, I was still convinced that Albus Andrew was indeed behind that door and was eventually going to come out and upbraid me for being late.

Now, while my angst was dripping on the floor, someone started heavily trudging up the stairs. "Albus Andrew? Is that you?" I put on my most forlorn face so that he would see how neglected and abandoned I looked. I mean, I know Jesus says:

"When you [are angsty], do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are [angsty]. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you [are angsty], put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to men that you are [angsty], but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."

However, I thought: "Screw it, Jesus. Albus Andrew needs to know."

Much to my chagrin, it was not Albus Andrew, but rather an unknown man who looked at me while taping a note to Albus Andrew's big red door without a doorknob.

"Tutorials canceled today."

I might have just as well died right then and there.

"Jesus? I know I don't believe in the rapture and I'm sorry for that, but I've changed my mind. I think the rapture is great. Will you please come right now? Please Jesus?"

Why Albus Andrew? WHY?? There was nothing I could do at this point except for cry a little and turn around to go home. Suffice it to say, the walk home was perhaps even worse because my pants were now soaked almost to the knee, and it is much harder to walk up a treacherous, icy hill.

At this point, the crazed look in my eyes could have made the park rapists feel uneasy.

When I arrived home, after an hour and 45 minutes of a purposeless trip. I checked my email.

"Sara and Grace,
I am sorry, but I will have to postpone our tutorials this morning - my daughter's school has been shut."

"Your daughter's school has been shut? Well, as quaint as that is Albus Andrew, perhaps you could have NOT sent this email 16 minutes after I last checked my email before leaving the house to come meet you."

In a point of irony, I noticed that he signed his email, "Best, [Albus] Andrew." I don't even want to speculate on whether or not I should appreciate that or not. What is perhaps the worst part is that the tutorial now has to be rescheduled, and I now feel obligated to make my abysmal esssay better seeing as I have more time. Drat Drat Drat.

However, I guess it's always kind of refreshing to have one of those mornings where you can chant to the beat of your footsteps: "I..hate..my..life..I..hate..my..life..I..hate..my..life." It's clearly therapeutic to be in the throes of despair.

Well, I feel most joyful that I was able to share that with you. I actually had many other fun stories to share, but they will have to wait because this event clearly deserves a post of its own.

Best,
Sara