22 Miles and Counting

You guys. TWENTY-TWO MILES. That’s what separates Chapel Hill from Raleigh and apparently that’s what my life has become.

22 Miles and Counting

Before you ask, yes that’s my pre-drive face and yes I look this good at 7 AM because I’m wearing yesterday’s mascara and delusion.

So here’s how this works: I drive to see Marcus three times a week. He drives to see me four. We didn’t plan it this way but somehow we’ve become that couple who treats I-40 like a personal driveway.

Planning the least traffic-heavy route like we’re mapping the Oregon Trail

This morning we’re studying the route like we haven’t driven it approximately forty-seven times already. Traffic on Wade Avenue is apparently “concerning” according to Marcus’s traffic app addiction.

Four days a week this man drives to Chapel Hill for me

The man has started making me travel coffee because he’s decided I’m “not safe to drive without caffeine.” He’s not wrong but he didn’t have to say it out loud.

His and hers fuel for the 22-mile love trek

Look at these matching travel mugs sitting there all domestic and couple-y. We’ve been together six months and we already have matching things. I don’t know if this is adorable or terrifying.

Nursing school finals are in three weeks and instead of studying like a normal person I’m about to spend two hours on the interstate round-trip to watch him cook me dinner and explain why his latest logo design is “revolutionary.” It’s not revolutionary but he gets this look when he talks about kerning so here I am, keys in hand, ready to brave 40 West again. We’re ridiculous and I’m not sorry about it.