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Jul. 20th, 2005 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nirix5Quinn was not dead, drowned in a tragic car accident while driving along Nine Mile Creek, the vicitim of a seizure while locked in a bathroom stall. His appendix had not burst and leaked out of his ears and he was not zapped into another dimension. Nor did he abandon me for someone else he liked more. He wasn't answering his phone because he fell asleep reading his Drizzt stories on the couch.
Normally this wouldn't have been an issue, but a) Dad said I could have the car and b) I had just finished Harry Potter and had been sobbing into a placemat for about fifteen minutes. In my world, crying over books + cars = go visit for a while, but there is no way my paranoid self is showing up at someone's house without calling them first. But Quinn wasn't answering his phone. Situations like this always kick my pessimistic, already hyper active imagination into overdrive, with the result that I come to the conclusion that Quinn is dead or close to it and/or has dumped me without telling me.
Stupid JK Rowling. That's all your fault, you know.
Anyway, I wound up going over there around ten or so, when he woke up and called me back. We just hung out and watched Adult Swim. The next thing I know, it's 12:30 and Quinn is shaking me awake.
So buy the time I chance the backroads and get home, it's quarter after one. I get a grand total of three hours of sleep before hopping into the shower and catching the bus up to Planned Parenthood.
And you know what? I don't feel like finishing this entry.
So stay tuned for the next one, wherein I will tell of my [mis]adventures in pelvic exams, on the bus route, and at the mall. Discover the stupid things Feather does when operating on three hours of sleep and a strange, girly, birth-control related euphoria- such as buying jeans, demanding shoes, and signing up to be an Avon Lady.
She will also relate the thrilling tale of taking a nap in a Lord and Taylor dressing room in formalwear.
Possibly in a third-person narrative!
Normally this wouldn't have been an issue, but a) Dad said I could have the car and b) I had just finished Harry Potter and had been sobbing into a placemat for about fifteen minutes. In my world, crying over books + cars = go visit for a while, but there is no way my paranoid self is showing up at someone's house without calling them first. But Quinn wasn't answering his phone. Situations like this always kick my pessimistic, already hyper active imagination into overdrive, with the result that I come to the conclusion that Quinn is dead or close to it and/or has dumped me without telling me.
Stupid JK Rowling. That's all your fault, you know.
Anyway, I wound up going over there around ten or so, when he woke up and called me back. We just hung out and watched Adult Swim. The next thing I know, it's 12:30 and Quinn is shaking me awake.
So buy the time I chance the backroads and get home, it's quarter after one. I get a grand total of three hours of sleep before hopping into the shower and catching the bus up to Planned Parenthood.
And you know what? I don't feel like finishing this entry.
So stay tuned for the next one, wherein I will tell of my [mis]adventures in pelvic exams, on the bus route, and at the mall. Discover the stupid things Feather does when operating on three hours of sleep and a strange, girly, birth-control related euphoria- such as buying jeans, demanding shoes, and signing up to be an Avon Lady.
She will also relate the thrilling tale of taking a nap in a Lord and Taylor dressing room in formalwear.
Possibly in a third-person narrative!
