Friday

It is seeming to cheesy to create a title everytime I write something. Too much contrast when the content is far from grand.

Final packing being done. Still want to put on two more coats of nail polish, and it's not looking good. Harry went to get Subway for lunch; my train leaves at 4:25 and it's 1:25. Harry is my ex-boyfriend and primary friend. One day we will move on, but for now we enjoy the parts that attracted us to each other without the grief that drove us apart. And he loves my dog, and she him, so I am insanely lucky to have this kind of house-sitter arrangement. My dog is Riley, a little Toto-like terrier who after 12 years as my equal is past the kennel-the-dog stage. Makes it hard. But she's the best.
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One hour to go. Bags are packed and one foot is painted. Harry is here, the dog is nervous, and I found the lid to my hairspray. I cannot help that I am a big-hair kind of gal. I need to bring my hairspray. It's probably not as bad as you're picturing. But the hairspray is part of my life. I have empties piled up next to the dresser that tease me with hollow jangles when I knock into them. I know how the closet wino suffers.