After that last post, I bet you think this is going to be about how I’ve spent my last 11 weeks.

Or how I’ve spent the previous 4 7 years (working, studying, working, studying).

Or how I spent the last 6 weeks (see above).

Oh, no.

This post goes much, much, much deeper: it’s about how I spent the last 12 hours.

After my dismal lab experience, during which I nearly blew my top and kept repeating to myself (silently, before you really start to think I’ve lost all sanity) “Rise above rise above rise above rise above please God help me rise above“, and then during which I apparently decided to give up the fight and start to cry (!! – I know. Let’s not go there. The lab partner girl was being particularly intolerable last night, and I was particularly emotional – ok, let’s blame hormones, shall we?), DB picked me up and I said to him, “I need a burger.”

Which, if you’ve ever known me at all, is like the most uncharacteristic thing for me to say. But I did. I wanted meat, and iron, and deep-fried french fries. With grease.

And a shake.

The regret comes in about now.

I am lactose intolerant.

We went to a place that basically only serves burgers, fries, and shakes. And maybe fried chicken sandwiches, but I’m not sure about that. Probably salads, to serve the clientele that is like the Old Me (the vegetarian, healthy-eating me), but the New Me is a burger-eating, grease-seeking me, so I have never even seen a salad there. In fact, I’ve never actually seen a person eating a salad there. So I’m pretty sure that the salads are not a popular item.

Anyway, it was good. Yum.

The ore0 shake was very good. Yum.

DB didn’t like it as much as I was anticipating he would (he said it was “too thin”. What is that supposed to mean? You eat it with a straw! Yum!), so I picked up the slack.

And…when we got home, I hit the books. And forgot to take the little white Lactaid pills.

Regret, I tell you, for the spaciness that occurred between 11:00 pm and midnight. Pure regret.