Growing Up

JournalWord: Rain boots.

::

He takes one look at her and shakes his head. She continues to tug her rain boots on her socked feet, unbeknownst to the expression of disapproval on his face.

He sighs and decides to make his opinion known. "You're going to get sick."

She turns her head to see him leaning on the banister of the staircase. Still bent over, she tugs her foot completely into the boot and straightens up, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Eventually," she agrees. "It's inevitable."

He shakes his head again and points his mug, half-full of cooling coffee, at her light purple hoodie and frayed, cut-off shorts. "Wear something a little warmer," he demands. "It's pouring outside and you're going to be soaked halfway down the street."

"I have rain boots," she defends, kicking her feet out to indicate her point.

"Not good enough," he states, pushing off from the banister and walking down the stairs. He walks around her and heads to the closet, rifling through the selections of coats with one hand while deftly sipping coffee thoughtfully with the other.

He finds what he is looking for and strips the coat off the hanger, tossing it in her direction over his shoulder. "Wear that and no complaints," he commands, closing the closet doors and heading up the stairs. "Put up the hood and come home before dinner," he finishes, disappearing into the upper recesses of the house.

She looks down at the coat and slips it on. The coat hangs down to her knees and she struggles with the zipper as the sleeves are too long and refuse any effort to be pushed up her arms or folded over. Pulling on the hood, she finds her vision cut off by the oversized bill.

She wants to shake her head at the ridiculousness of wearing such a big coat, but decides against complaining when she whiffs the light musky scent of his cologne on the inside of his collar. She smiles, opening the door and stepping out into the rain, feeling warm.

::

Something sweet to get through the day.

I am at a loss at the moment, deciding my reaction to an invitation to the program interview at BCIT. I wasn't hopeful of actually being invited as the bulk of my application was received just on the date of the deadline, and my university transcript was received well afterwards.

So now I'm in a state of shock and disbelief.

And now I know what I'll be doing tomorrow, haha :) Studying for the interview in a few weeks!

Keeping cheery,

Mera.

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YGMM: Crowded

JournalWord: In sickness.

::

Jones tips his head back so it drapes over the back of the couch, letting off a throaty groan and pathetic sniff.

"We can hear ya," Tristan calls over the running water. He dries the last plate after Chris hands it to him and stacks it onto the dish rack to be dealt with tomorrow. "I've got you, Jonesy," he reassures as he wipes his hands on a clean towel and heads for their room. 

Chris dries her hands as well, wiping off the spilled water around the sink before hanging the towel up. She hears a series of shuffling from the living room as she heads to her own room. Without shutting the door, she gathers her patient files, pen, and notebook swiftly and turns back into the hallway. 

Jones has dropped himself to cover the length of the couch, and when Chris walks in, he is busy kicking his long legs over the back and arm as he fights for a comfortable position. He frustratingly grunts at the effort before giving up and throwing an arm over his eyes and allowing his other arm to dangle so his knuckles rest onto the floor. 

Chris settles her files and notebook onto the coffee table, and using the blunt end of her pen, pokes him  in the shoulder. "Shove over you," she commands.

He peeks from under his arm at her with irritation fixated in his expression, but grudgingly shifts to sit up so she has room. 

Tristan had walked in as well during the scene and deduces that Jones couldn't be too angry at her, because as soon as she is nestled into her seat and her work, Jones rests his head on her shoulder.

"If you drool on me, I'll murder you," Chris warns, but otherwise leaves him to close his eyes as she starts writing in her notebook.

Tristan tucks the blanket he has secured from their room around Jones, whom grunts with appreciation without opening his eyes. Figuring that he can't pass this moment by so easily, Tristan approaches the other end of the couch and, yawning widely, settles himself down and nestles his own head onto her free shoulder.

Immediately, Jones's eyes snap open to glare balefully at him. "Idiot, don't you have something else to do?" his scratchy voice demands.

Tristan replies by childishly sticking his tongue out at him. "Nope, took the day off too. I wanted to spend time with my dear Chrisy."

"Your dear Chrisy is going to maim the both of you if you don't quiet up while I'm working," she threatens, not pausing her pen. Although she was annoyed to have been called off of work to take care of Jones, she's more irritated by how much control these two boys have over her superiors in deciding when she should take a day off. 

Jones makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes once again.

A scratchy throat and stuffy nose does not entail as an "emergency", or a reason to cancel her appointments and responsibilities for the day to shove lunch and medication down Jones's throat.

Tristan muses as he examines Chris's jawline and focus, having realized she's really not as angry as she portrays herself to be. Sure, she was angry initially when he had convinced Alice that Chris should tend to an emergency at home instead of dealing with work. And who knows, if Chrisy hadn't come home and taken over the nursing of poor, old Jonesy, he might have taken a turn for the worse. 

Well, at least there's no need to worry now, Tristan speculates and comfortably curls into Chris's side. How lucky they are to have someone drop their day just for them, and to have someone to rely on in times when neither are capable.

"Thank you, Chrisy," he whispers into her collarbone as he shuts his eyes for a nap as well.

::

I've been fighting (and failing) a series of persistent headaches, only to find out that I am having tension headaches induced by stress. So hopefully now, with the pain and dizziness under control, I can figure out what I want done :)

It seems like I'm a giant ball of stress. Maybe I'll end up popping, or blowing a blood vessel, before I can write up all my stories and ideas!

Who knows :P
Mera.

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BTF: So Far...

What a way to start the new year...
Feeling absolutely wretched with a cold that won't let me hold anything down.
Weakened by lack of sleep.
Stricken with crazy dreams (drug-trafficking empire in Costco??) induced by medication.
Bruises and muscle pain from tobogganing.
All around anxiety from starting up next semester.
Stress from having to complete the requirements for the BCIT Lab Tech. program by April.

Whoa. I'm a big ball of stress and pain.

And! Not to mention, my overall fear of change. (Hahaha, I'm everywhere right now.)

I'm at a low point at the moment, when I really should be optimistic and positive. I've got to find ways to boost my moral. (any suggestions?)

Hmm, maybe I'll try to reshape myself, with makeup and clothes... (damn, need money for that.)

Well, hopefully I figure something out (especially with uni and BCIT).

I've only got a few days before this holiday ends and reality tumbles onto my shoulders,
mera.

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