Thinking, That's All

Leaving Houston was a bit like emerging from a dream (a dream where Steve Irwin is still alive, mind you). Everything there was a bit surreal—maybe because I’d built it up for so long in my head, or maybe because the way events unfolded far exceeded the expectations I’d concocted in even my best-case, fairy tale scenario. Some things run like clockwork and this was one. Not just the trip itself but us. Yes, there were approximately 3 minutes when things weren’t perfect: 150 seconds of my being pissy over forgetting to bring my make up bag to the beach and 30 seconds of Jeremy’s being pissy over the Houston DMV equivalent being dumb fucks. And yes Houston was much as it was described to me--that is, my boyfriend being far and away the best thing there, the humidity and sprawl (oh god the sprawl) being the worst. But it was still just about the best trip of all time and I am just about the luckiest girl in the world.