I managed to crawl out of bed (as some may say, off the floor) this morning and to the Incon, but I barely made it. Robitussin. DayQuil. Tissues. Water. Happy spring break; I have a monster of a cold. I have a friend hiking the Appalachian Trail, starting in Georgia and ending up in Maine. This is supposed to take him five-and-a-half months, and I am supposed to be available to cover for him (if he "breaks his leg or something," he says so flippantly) in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut. His hike through there should coincide with Will and I being in New Jersey for the summer. Oh, Jersey, I will see you Friday. I do not truly look forward to it. I guess I am just trying to write something that is not about drugs (oh, damn, I said that word again). I do not hate this lifestyle, not in the least, but the words never change to describe it. On a Thursday night I sat in front of a bookstore in Rockville (I do nothing in that town but smoke and wait) and realized that I actually must be a little homesick. Surprising. My boyfriend lies sweetly sleeping in the bed above me. My heart aches sometimes, to be around him. To not. Whenever he drinks he falls in love with me all over again, it seems. For his own comfort or mine, he makes a slurred list of titles for me. Girlfriend. Lover. Best friend. Partner. Fiancee. Sometimes the people you find by chance are the people that you cannot end up without. Case in point, William. Stephanie. Nothing more mournful than trains in the distance sightless, tasteless, a constant presence in this state of (oak laurel and) loneliness.