I shaved my legs this morning sitting on the bed. The bathroom smells too kitty litterish. I clean it constantly, but it's so small you can barely turn around in it anyway, so the litter takes up all the floor space. The kitten kept trying to lick the shaving cream off my legs, or sneakily run up, touch my leg with his paw, run off and lick it. Madness. I felt like I was hungover. So groggy. Last night the dealer had run out. We were panicking in a way, in an aching, lethargic way. Eyes crying and feeling generally shitty. When they finally had something we had to crawl to their end of town, their car had broken down. We ran up the four flights as if it was one step. In and out fast. Then the same old ritual, buy the cheapest thing at the closest café- a can of root beer, so we could use the bathroom. Grab the key. Go in together. Me with the lid down, sitting on the toilet trying to tighten my purse strap as a tourniquet, boyfriend on the tiled floor cooking it. Then the whispery drops of rain felt good on our faces and in our hair, and we were home in no time, sparkling and joyous. Curled up to watch the last silly 15minutes of some medical drama finale, and clunk... that's all I can remember.