okay, i really am getting my clothes from the washer now

I'm seven and a half hours from my flight to LA and I think the first load of clothes may be done washing. I should possibly go check that?

Okay, it does sound like I enjoy the stress, but beautiful part is, stress only begins when I begin packing; it's like a switch. Once the packing begins, so does the stress, be it a week early or while the cab honks outside. So if you will squint and ignore logic, it makes sense the majority of my packing is sometimes done while the cab is driving into the driveway.

...that's an exaggeration. The cab was late last time.

svmadelyn and I were given two glorious options by an old friend who I officially am nominating for sainthood that we're staying with. Well, I'm not actually sure what the second one was, as the first involved a deck, snacks, possibly some small, man-made body of heated water, and lounging. God, lounging. Like, half a country away from the current special hell that is the testing environments all kind of not working and the word 'deployment' means we all stare blankly at our screens and I, for one, have learned some surprisingly creative phrases in Hindi and Spanish to better explain to the screen the depth of my feelings. You might say to yourself, you are actually taking on faith they aren't teaching you something like "I smell like goats" or "Feet yay!" (okay, that would be hilarious).

In my defense, I am known to sing along to German heavy metal which I have been assured that despite the fact my ancestors actually came from that country (they left due to the reunification of--wait--the unification of two branches of German Protestantism. For some reason, I cannot get over the idea. They seem nice, I think) I sound like Wolverine with a hairball. As if Wolverine would get a goddamn hairball, so you see this is a total lie. Also, I apparently sing words that don't exist, or if they do, probably will summon Cthulhu or Pee-Wee Herman or some other epic and dreadful beast.

I may or may not have--please don't ask how--started a story that I assumed would be all post-beach-breakup angst and is--again, don't ask--Emma going to Charles for training because Shaw in between being a very special psycho never let her learn anything she could actually use against him. I don't even think they like each other, but I also am staring at five paragraphs of them getting drunk together because telepath do epic terrible jokes in between competitively trying to see if she can push him down the stairs before he can freeze her in place. They apparently have money riding on this. And Alex is the only one that doesn't hate her because it's the first time Charles has laughed since the beach.

...I literally keep staring at it wondering what the hell just happened. Though competitive stair-pushing, that I get.

So assuming I don't spend the night posting--which is totes possible--I will be in LA until next Wednesday and will be chasing down a grilled cheese truck like it insulted my mother because hello, double brie grilled cheese with fig jam? This has been missing from my life.

( erik never asked )