Straight No Chaser

Under the Influence

this quick, nonsense entry brought to you by my interminable wait for the dryer cycle. can't very well fly to atlanta with nary a clean bra, now can we.

i was very careful about not using lip products of any sort, all month. no lip gloss, the usual culprit, not even those dull neutrogena ones, which are sometimes okay. no balms, chapstik, no vaseline; just tried not to lick them much, so they wouldn't dry out, because i did not want to go to atlanta wearing that awful allergic reaction that looks like something way worse than it is. and i still haven't figured out to my satisfaction which products do and don't contain octinoxate. some of those tiny little tubes only list one or two "active ingredients." i was very careful. wanted to be kissable.

planned the trip very carefully so as not to be crampy and bloated and bleeding, during. it generally makes a difference of five or six pounds, as well as my entire mood, and i was not risking subjecting him to my own bitchiness. i booked the tickets back in may, and kept my fingers very tightly crossed that everything would happen on time, this month, which, thank god, it did.

the harder part was the scheduling, figuring out a time when i could be there while he was, too, after lsat but before cty training, no serious conflicts on either end, besides the two classes he's taking. managed. he'll be in said classes for a couple hours a day, tomorrow through friday, but i said, that's fine, i'll entertain myself. and i will. i'll go see a movie, chill at the bookstore, shop for father's day gift. wander onto my own campus and see whether i can't figure out something about my fucked housing situation for next semester. then he and i will meet up, eat and play and romp till bedtime, fall asleep touching.

i bought three new tank tops, khaki cargo capris and two pairs of flats. painted my stupid nails. covered all the bases.

then my dad left the windows open last night and i woke up with, and still currently have, the, worst, sore throat, ever. barbed wire on fire, running down the length of my tongue.

good! great!

but, no, i took an airborne, two if you count the one i sucked on for a while at the hairdresser, so i will wake up well. i'm not fucking sick, far from it; i'm happy and enthusiastic and horny and ready to fly south for four very perfect days. my mind is stronger than my xyloid process, or whatever it is aaron is always talking about.

god damn it.