Monday morning

(I’m finally going to transcribe my journals. Notations, where I try to make explain my scribblings, will be in italics.)

Started poorly. Didn’t get cloak done. Shouldn’t have let Jon over. Cab was 30 minutes late. I’m freaking OUT, he gets to my street and turns the WRONG WAY. The cab lady isn’t even apologetic. I know I shouldn’t be paying for it but I do, b/c my mama raised me right.

Bag = 82lbs = $100 freaking dollars

I’m SO TIRED. Stayed up trying to figured out the suitcase. 72lbs on my sacle. Took out a bag of clothes, about 20lbs. Reconfigured (it left a hole in all the stuff) and now 73lbs? WTF??

Space bags are definitely a waste of money. Rolling clothes takes up much less space and you don’t have this huge, heavy brick to deal with.

I am stuffed to the gills with stuff seriously, my carry-ons were BULGING because I packed a bare necessities contingent plan, in case I got seperated from the suitcase. I make it to the gate and start hand-sewing on the cloak. I’m shaky, didn’t eat or drink, cried in the cab when we caught a train at the time it was supposed to be dropping me off at the airport…so I’m breathing. Sewing. Cracked out tired.

Dawn recognizes me from last year. She has two students again – black, which is awesome.

I sit next to a super cute soldier heading from Iraq home to Tucson. He went through Bangor and yes, all the old people were there. That movie is amazing and every American needs to see it.

Sleep. Curled up uncomfortably on the cloak and managed to sleep. With some help from Devondra.

The toes of my new boots are hurting the toes of my feet. No bueno.

Dawn and I and her kids head to our terminal…I was SO GLAD I had 16 gates to be late for, not a complex of terminals and such. My local airport, where I was over 30 min. late because of the !@#$%^& cab company, has like, five terminals. So I checked in and went there, no shuttles or monorails or anything. Not even two floors.

I’m pretty sure there’s other burners on this flight. I can just tell!

So I’m sitting at the gate and HA! I see Foxglove Dirty Southern Burner I don’t see too often. Right? I cock my head, confused by her cornrows. She sees me and squeals as I start laughing and she runs up and hugs me. Awesome. It’s her first time, she’s traveling along from Greensboro.

I’m in the back of the damn plane, next to a cute tattoo’d boy who had two vodkas. We had a seat between us! I leaned over and slept most of the trip on that middle tray.

My face is SO broken out it’s making me extremely uncomfortable and self-concious. Just last week, damn it, I was SO looking forward to being out there with the clear skin I had at the time.

I’m landing in Reno. Haven’t heard from Token. Mildly concerned…what’s next?

Can’t wait for sleep. Will probably trazodone and try to catch up on last week’s loss of sleep reference.

Why are eyedrops so messy?

Token was there. He’s awesome. Like hanging out with my boys. “Ridin’ with you in a big ol’ pick-up truck? It’s like I never left South Carolina.”

Save Mart was FULL of burners, but I got everything – except the likker I wanted. Picked up some Malibu and we started drinking.

It was hilarious. In the parking lot there, in line for some water, mixing drinks. It really felt like hanging out with an old friend.

Pretty great, I must say – he’s camping with Thunderdome. The circle is complete…a year later. Terminal City. Friend in Death Guild.




I still can’t believe it.

We just went through Gerlach…sprinkles. Dust cloud ahead…crazy.

My eyeballs are so sticky. Glass for the plane ride next time.




Dear diary,

My bowels are churning. The gate is closed. At least I peed discriminately, unlike some whores.

Token teased me all week about our bonding, by sharing a pee bottle. PEE FUNNEL FTW. Other people were straight up walking out of the line of cars into the big open playa, pissing. Piss on a tire. Know better than to show up at fucking BM gates unprepared to WAIT FOREVER.


What does it mean?!?

Jim Morrison and generic techno

Ministry (wishful thinking from Token)

By this time we’re through my bottle(s?) of Malibu and he’s opened some whiskey. We’re cheering for the hippies to fall off the tops of the cars they’re dancing on. I ask the redheads in the pick-up in front of us

if they were:


b)recently divorced

c)ceramisists from New Mexico

They were:


b)one happily married, one long-time divorced

c)one of them was a ceramisist

Now we’re drunk and talking smack.

“I have bruised a few cervix…I.” – Token – “Want a Cinnabon?”

OK. Early arrival is the way to go.

This is beyond BS. 😦

I think we ended up sitting, just sitting, at the gate for about five hours. Not including time when the line was moving.


3 Responses to “Monday morning”

  1. Dan Eklund Says:

    OMG. We were so close to each other in line. You were like 15 cars ahead of us. The red brick truck was a good marker.

  2. Risky Says:

    Here’s another endorsement for the pee funnel –

    • J Says:

      Ha ha, that’s pretty funny! Crazy Austrailians. That style looks a bit cumbersome, compared to the two I have. The Pstyle is the BEST!

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