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The end of my Easter Sunday

Last night I drove home from my parents' house. It took two hours, which is what it usually takes if I'm lucky enough not to hit any traffic. I didn't leave until 10: I was going to leave earlier, at around 9:01, but then my dad started watching The Sopranos, and I stayed for that. I don't have HBO at home, so I don't get to watch it anymore, but I really do like it a lot. Also I knew that Meadow was going to try some ecstasy.

The drive was long and lonely, and it started to rain about 10 minutes in. I was actually kind of thankful for the rain, because at least it was something different. I listened to Green and then I made the mistake of putting in my Harry Chapin mix. Harry is depressing as all get-out to begin with, but the kicker is that the mix was made by my estranged ex-boyfriend shortly before we broke up, and it reminded me of a specific evening, boo hoo, blah blah blah, etc etc, you've heard it all before.

So the drive, which has been depressing me anyway the past few times I've made it, and the rain, and the music, and the lateness of the hour, et cetera, gloomily put me in my parking lot around midnight. I had the option of driving instead to a friends' house, seeing some people, and sleeping over, but I didn't feel like burdening anyone else with my sour puss, so I climbed upstairs to my big empty bed.

I did call my best friend, to tell him that I was home, and going to sleep now. He said he would talk to me for a while, which was nice, because I haven't curled up in bed with a phone for a long time. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him. Then I asked him to tell me about what he did Saturday night, and he wove me a little tale of the antics that had ensued. It was a very good story. Then he asked if I was still sad, and he told me that I didn't have anything to be sad about. And I realized that he was right, and I went to sleep content.

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