Feeling: stuffy and punky
Listening to: Sense Field - Running Behind
Reading/Watching: no idea. possibly reviving Fellowship, now that there's time.

It's like a law: every time I finish school, I get sick the first week immediately afterward. It's like my body goes, "We're done now? Really? Okay. ::collapse::"

Thursday I was feeling not-so-hot, and went to sleep early (9 PM), only to sleep away the majority of the subsequent Friday.

I woke with my cell phone competely dead, and once I plugged it in I had four voice mails from various people asking, "Where on earth are you?" (including mon coeur, who was expecting to celebrate our three-month anniversary and had limited time in between his wonky work schedule) Very bad.

In the end, I took about three kinds of cold medicine, he got out of work at 9 and I came to see him after dinner, and we managed to see an 11:30 showing of Troy (long story, which I will proceed to tell).

We bought tickets for the 10:10, but fifteen minutes into the movie, he was buzzed by work, saying he needed to come in to fix a computer glitch. Immediately. One of the *perks* of the job. So we got our tickets refunded, left, and drove back toward the base (he was more upset than I was), talking about how maybe we could do it some other time, how it was kind of late to try and do anything afterward, no telling how late he'd have to stay, and so on. I was driving, staring at the road signs, when I whispered wistfully, "Happy anniversary."

He silently took my hand and kissed my fingers. He continued to hold it until I had to exit the freeway, winding around the cloverleaf to get on highway 90.

Then his phone rang. "It's them. If they're calling to say they figured it out, I will be so fricking pissed..." he grumbled, and answered it: "Yeah?"

Two seconds while he listened, and I listened to him listening. Then, exasperated, he hung up the phone and snapped, "Son of a bitch!"

I grinned and immediately took the turnaround.

So we saw the 11:30 showing. And it was good.

Then yesterday, Bri's mother graduated from law school. I was so proud of her. But at the celebratory dinner, when her mother was at one end of the huge table, surrounded by family friends, and her father sat at the other, neither making eye contact with each other, I wanted to stab the worthless man with my shrimp fork (for the first time in my life, I actually had one. It was very odd).

But I didn't. Instead I gave her mother my graduation gift, and after dessert Bri asked me to sing Ave Maria for her, which I did, albeit in G, since my cold didn't allow for high notes. Bri's father just sat in his chair, not looking at his wife. But it was too late to stab him; they'd cleared away my cutlery.

Everything feels like it's up in the air right now. I hate this feeling: it's like my own life is being decided. Perhaps I should keep a shrimp fork on hand, just in case.

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