That Saturday was a mix of emotions.
First the disappointment in herself for failing to figure out how to set the alarm on her phone and oversleeping for a negligible amount of 30 extra minutes (which didn't matter in the end, but she was a sucker for rhythm and control).
The mildly dark humor she gladly welcomed from the suffering of an acquaintance she coincidentally met at the park; his roommate had emptied his packed bag and travelled with it before he woke up and he was not happy about that. She had to warn herself internally not to tell him what she thought about deep sleepers.
Pain she had to endure because her long legs were pressed into the driver's seat for the entire trip. Struggling with her ridiculous travelling bag while cursing herself internally for packing too much (which wasn't true but she wanted to blame something, maybe she felt blaming herself was a way of maintaining control over the situation)
Control was slipping with her sanity following closely behind. Though the food she ate in the late afternoon while listening to the pleasant sound of the rain hit the window and the ground had now made her drowsy. It was almost too salty, the chef, her aunt, talked a little too much, and she didn't want to attend the Mormon service tomorrow or cry herself to sleep tonight because insomnia and rage kept her awake.
But right in that moment she was feeling good and it was enough for her.