six days

I woke up at 6:30 a.m. this morning, to take Pat to the airport. He's going to spend the week with his parents in California. Mostly because he needs to have his wisdom teeth extracted before his health insurance expires. But also because they want to have an early birthday celebration for Pat. They're taking him to an expensive restaurant, and he's been promised filet mignon. I squeezed his hand all the way to the airport. My mom gave me until 8:00 a.m. to say goodbye. For twenty minutes, I locked my arms around him and buried my face in his shoulder and cried.

If a year ago I had known that I would be crying at the airport because Pat was leaving for six days, I would have done something heinous. Because - six days!

Anyway. After I came back from the airport I slept an additional two hours. Then I showered and practiced piano. I finished reading Ordinary People. The main character, Conrad? I think I love him. Somewhere "suicidal eighteen-year-olds" is written down as the equation for "sexy." And I'm not joking.

Pat called while I was playing Dance Dance Revolution.

At 5:30 p.m. I got my hair cut. The hairdresser who normally cuts my hair was on vacation, so Cindy cut it instead. While she snipped away, she asked me lots of questions about Pat. In between questions she talked about customers. She warned me that because she didn't know how to tame my unruly curls, she would let it dry wavy. I took a picture of it when I got home, because I didn't think anyone would believe me otherwise. I think it makes my face look like an apple. Pat seemed to like it, though.

My mom and I swung by Starbucks after that. I ate a candy bar on the way that I had purchased at the beauty shop. Boy scouts often leave boxes of candy bars on the counter there, and people are welcome to take one after slipping a dollar bill into a nearby envelope.

Now I'm talking to Pat and Bryan online. Pat is busy repairing the computer and performing for his mom on the guitar, and Bryan hates women.

Speaking of women, Pat's in-demand. He was playing an online game of pool today and a girl asked him for his stats and if he was single. And then, when the answer was no, if he had ever cheated. And then if he would consider cheating. And then if he would please cheat "a little." So now I'm wondering how you cheat "a little."

I'm exhausted. When I wasn't playing piano or reading or sleeping today I was crying. And when I wasn't crying I was blowing my nose or hitting things.

And I'm too tired to write any more.