Two days

My interview is in two days. In this moment, right now, I'm not nervous. But the sickening feeling of woeful inadequacy only bothers me in the mornings, fortunately enough.

Maybe it's just my blood sugar.

Tomorrow I'm either going to buy something to wear or get a hair cut. I haven't decided which is more important, and I only have enough money for one or the other. I'm leaning towards the new hair...

This weekend is Converge. The convention's attempt at reaching the great Unreached age group, young adults (dum dum dum). It's a good plan, even if the promotional techniques are a bit archaic. I think if this thing is going to succeed more people are going to have to put in a little more elbow grease (word-spreading wise, that is).

It's logical really. The demography least likely to be found in a church pew is that of young adults. So, if you want young adults to come to your event, you have to go beyond the church crowd. Commercials... a dedicated website... etc.

But that's hard to do when you're just starting out I suppose, maybe next year.

I'm moderately excited about it, but since I won't know many people there, my enthusiasm is a bit dim. I'm sure it'll be great though, as long as I can find a place to sleep. But homelessness never killed anyone, and that may just have to do.

*cough*

Converge is put on by the Atlantic Baptist Youth Executive. Of which I have been a part for the past 6 years. This term will definitely be my last. It's been a great experience, I've gotten to do a lot of things and participated in things that I never would have otherwise. But it's been six years. It's a part of the long ago past and I'm ready to move on. I thought I'd be terribly conflicted when it came time to part ways, especially since change and me don't always mesh that well.

The biggest indicator is that when I tell people I'm on the executive I feel like a twelve year-old. Only my dog hasn't died and my bike hasn't been stolen (think about it, it'll come to ya).

I'd like to conclude today's post with a letter:

Dear Readers -

I know your mind is screaming, "Bring back da funny!*". My mind is too. And as you as my witness, I shall make all attempts to lose the melancholy shroud and "bring back da funny", as it were.

Trust me, by the end of this post, I'm as bored as you are.

Signed,
Evelyn (FC)

*Disclaimer: Some people don't think I have a sense of humour. Most notably, a french guy named Jason that I worked with at a gas station last winter. I'm sorry, I just didn't find the recipe book for the human body funny. Forgive me. In the event that you don't believe I have a sense of humour, I would like to say "your mom doesn't have a sense of humour" with a little "your mom goes to college" on top, and last but not least "your mom wears army boots". No, this was not an attempt to be funny, but an expression of my true feelings. Had I acquired the art of cursing as a child, I would swear at you. But I was stemmed from such activity when my little friend told on me for swearing in grade primary and I haven't sworn since (except once, when I had a dyslexic moment and mixed ditch and bit together, in conversation with my sister). I'm afraid the "your mom" arsenal is going to have to do.

That is all.