We played some Mad Libs while the quiche cooked--SPN-themed, naturally--and then watched 15x10 before heading to a college women's gymnastics meet, which was admittedly not related but still relevant. (And one woman did her beam routine to Eye of the Tiger.)
Birthday Sweet Potato Pie!
All in all, it was a glorious afternoon/evening. The second she dropped me off back at home after the meet, though, I got REAL SAD, because I'm not going to see her for a while, and because starting after my shower in a few minutes, this week is about to get unfathomably awful and it's not really going to stop for a long time. This was like a death row last meal situation. Literally we pulled into my driveway and the sheer dread and anxiety that smacked me in the face was mindblowing. It was already bad. It's already been bad! How the fuck is worse supposed to work?
I'm just. What. Whaaaat. Help. Help help help.