Mixed emotions.

Last night my laptop's hard drive crashed. The screen froze up while I was entering quiz grades into Blackboard, so I pushed the power button to reset it, but my attempts at resuscitation came too late--its little soul had already passed into the realm of the no longer functional. Luckily, I have all my important files (pictures, music, etc.) backed up on an external hard drive. It was still sad, though. That little guy served me well for nearly two straight years. REQUIEM.

Today during lunch I visited the Pre-Professional Office. The whole atmosphere in there makes me sick. It was full of anxious pre-med and pre-law students attacking their respective counselors about recommendation letter dates, personal statements, and AMCAS troubleshooting. I sat quietly on a couch and flipped through the MSAR, which made me feel even worse. I don't know why this happens. I have a 4.0 and three semesters of advanced undergraduate research along with a 400-level TA job and an extensive, consistent service commitment, and I'm only a sophomore. By all standards, I'm a competitive applicant. But looking at the cold, hard stats turns my stomach. I don't want to see that the NYU College of Medicine has a median accepted GPA of 3.9 and an average MCAT score three points above the average for accepted students. Regardless of my position in the application process, that makes me feel inadequate.

Anyway, I'll leave you with the Miraculous Happening of the Day:
Last night I ended up just sleeping over at my family's house; I didn't want to drive back to my apartment at 3 AM. So I got up early, as is usual for me on Wednesdays (I teach), but took my time leisurely eating a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats. By the time I got to my apartment, I literally had five minutes to get ready before walking (running) to school, so I changed, brushed my teeth, and zoomed out the door. On my way up the hill south of campus, though, something made me slow down. There was a kid struggling up the hill with bulky crutches and a massive backpack. I felt bad. After seeing six ankle surgeries that left my previously sports-obsessed cousin almost totally unable to walk, I have a soft spot for people on crutches. I stopped next to him. "Do you need any help?" I asked, expecting him to brush me off. He hesitated, and then almost broke down. "Actually, that would be great. I think this would be a lot easier if I wasn't so weighed down," he said, face flushed with emotion and relief, and handed me his backpack, which was almost as heavy as mine. We walked up the hill together, making polite small talk. I walked him to the Eyring Science Center, where he said he could take it from there. He thanked me profusely, and I felt wonderful. "This is so worth being late," I thought. "My professor will understand."
BUT GUESS WHAT.
I walked into the Widtsoe building, sure I was at least ten minutes late for class.
BUT I WASN'T.
I arrived at exactly the time I had wanted to arrive when I ran out of my apartment.
Impossible. But true.

I think Heavenly Father really knows how to take care of people.