Blueberry candy canes. Why? Because they aren't the REAL candy canes that I just drove all over tarnation trying to find to take to Senegal as a taste of America. Big Lots woman: "Oh they don't have those no more." What?! Who the hell wants a Disney fruit-flavored candy cane? Losers, that's who.
Doxycycline. Now, I'm all glad that it keeps me malaria- free, but I hate swallowing pills (especially with enlarged thyroid) and taking it every day. I took it tonight for the first time for this trip, and my stomach started cramping bad. I'd already eaten dinner but I swung by Wendy's for some french fries, since the pharmacist told me I needed to coat my stomach to keep the nausea at bay. More on the greasy fingers later.
The Huey P. Long Bridge. It is my worst nightmare, absolutely. Two miles of hell - very narrow lanes, built in the 1930s (do I LOOK like I'm riding a horse?), buried in dark and fog. Or was just tonight and my wrong turn, coupled with drag racers without license plates and greasy french fry fingers?
Sometimes we know our deaths - and mine will be off a bridge. OK, so my paranoia is pathological, but the panic, the hyperventilation, the steel grip on the steering wheel - it's in my reptilian brain.
I should have gone out to the bar or the parties with my classmates that I was invited to instead of my interbank (I crossed the Mississippi) quest for candy canes. But as much as I may enjoy my classmates and know I am very fortunate - I'm SO OUT OF LAW SCHOOL NOW. And except for Ayanna taking me to the airport tomorrow, that includes removal from classmates as well.
Passport? Check.
Foucault's Pendulum as airplane reading? Check.
Wet Ones? Check.
16 gallons of hand sanitizer? Check.
Water purification tablets? Check.
Toothbrush? Check.
I'm so out of here. Huey P. Long in my dust.
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