I don't think I know where to begin. Everything has an opposite, right? And so I bring many stories to the table, and I'm not sure which direction to head in first.
I could go with the awesome boarding, the amazing food, the hedonism, the sheer largess of the lavishness with which I lived the weekend, the..uh..(oh God, cheese alert) matching tattoos, losing my fingerprints all over that man, and not being permitted to join any clubs, mile-high or otherwise.
Party-pooper.
Or I could go with the name-calling, walking out, being ambushed and the exposed rawness of assorted emotions that run on full constantly, wearing us down, wearing us out. The tears which leave us dehydrated and depleted. The exhaustion of trying to make our relationship work the way it should instead of the way it does.
I think I'll start by saying my face is wind-burned and pink, my hair is straw again and I am happy to be home. I need new goggles, I scratched mine all to hell, and Jacob is limping just slightly, having twisted something or other in his hip on his final kamikaze run down the hill alone.
Hanging out with an adrenaline junkie is exhausting. But for all the yin and yang of the trip it turned out wonderfully and we worked out a bunch of things and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I'm just too worn out to talk about it tonight so I'm going to bed and I'll start tomorrow, after my run.
Everyone say goodnight to the stupid girl.
