I have one essay, three tests, and six days standing between me and those I love. So few things to do, so little time, but I hate it. I want today to be the nineteenth and the world be damned for those twelve days in-between.
My body is in pain… still. I can feel muscles all over it squeal when I shift my weight while sitting in this chair. Lower back, trapezius, deltoids, triceps, the brachialis on my right arm. My ass hurts, but not like a bruise, like my one of the gluteus muscles is angry with me, the gracilis, and my gastrocnemius was hurting from even before Saturday. When I breathe I can still feel someone’s arms around my chest crushing the air out of it, and when my face moves in an expression my right eyebrow complains.
Laptag was amazing, just how amazing will depend on how many days I’m in pain. They are directly proportional. The next laptag is on the nineteenth, Doug comes home on the nineteenth, if the weather cooperates Meghan will be home on the eighteenth, I’m done with finals on the seventeenth, so many good things in so few days. I don’t know how I’ll manage to contain my happiness, one of my neighbors might stroke out from the blowback. We’ll see.
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