On feeling like I'm in 2nd grade again...

Lesson I learned today: Seeing certain people three times in a week is WAY too much. Another lesson: Yeah, some expensive restaurants might be nice, but... There's a lot to be said for La Nueva Argentina. Screw the $34 filet mignon.

I went on a little drive today. Mainly because I had nothing better to do. But also because I find it very therapeutic. But you know, did the usual. Hopped onto the Palmetto, got up to Pines (again. I keep going up there!), turned back around (because I had to be within reasonable distance of my mom because she's ill) and got to the 836 to go downtown so I could ogle the beautiful skyline. Drove past my job at night (and it's so rich that the drive that usually takes me 40-50 minutes only took me 20) to find that little club hoppin' at 2:30 in the morning.

So, headed back home (because my iPod was about to die) and decided I would stop by my old elementary school (St. Paul Lutheran). The driveway isn't locked, so it was no big.

It was beyond creepy. I was turned back about 9 years. It was really, really bizarre and frightening and upsetting and just... Bah. Like ugh. I don't really understand why, but it was shocking to me. I hadn't gone in there since that one time in 7th grade when I visited. There's no one left for me there now. My class has long since graduated and who knows if my old teachers are even still alive. But I should go back one of these days. It's strange to see how things change. It's even almost scary in hindsight? Like, I just know I'll go back to FCS like two decades from now and break down into tears because it won't be what I remembered. Hell, it isn't that already.

Cops were out in full force today. Saw about 5 or 6. Yuck. AND I almost did something illegal with one right behind me. SUPER happy I didn't because I didn't even know he was there. Bugger.

Tomorrow, I'm going to have lunch with my Abuelo, Abuela, & mom and then go see Robert. Of all the days of the week, this will be the most painful. Doubtless. Hmm. But no, perhaps that shall be Sunday. fml?

Ah, speaking of, my fifteen year old cousin was asked if he wanted wine with dinner. When my grandfather asked that I be served some, the waiter said, "She isn't of age." Fuck you, Mr. Waiter. Fuck. You.

Thanks for reading.... I guess.