My time on earth is coming to a close. This isn't necessarily true -- it's not a suicide threat or anything -- but I always have to convince myself I'm fine with dying before I step on an airplane. Since the first time I flew at age five, I have been terrified of flying. The weird thing is that no one ever told me it was dangerous or scary; I've just always had a bad feeling about it.
The time I've spent in Sacramento has been wonderful. The weather's been great, I've been going to visit my grandparents' every afternoon, spending the evenings with my parents, then hanging out with Hollis at night. We've gone on some epic bike rides. Tuesday, Troy, Hollis, and I were at her house watching a documentary on conjoined twins. When we all left on our bikes, Troy walked outside and said, "Oh my God, it's raining!"
Hollis said, "Haha."
"No, I'm serious, dude. It's raining."
"Sometimes if you stand under the air conditioner, it feels like it's sprinkling."
"No, I'm in the middle of the street. It's raining."
Raining it was, and the droplets were accompanied by lightening. Hollis and I chased the lightening to Old Sac, then sat on a bench drinking our last beer and talking about Jarrad. The 4th was the anniversary of his death, and we both had a lot to say. It was so comforting. We got kicked out at 2:30 or so, because apparently Old Sac closes.
Now, I just need to pack and fix up my parent's house before I go. I've pretty much trashed it.
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