30 Minutes Feels Like 30 Hours

So apparently I’m that girlfriend now. The one who drives an hour and a half round trip just to deliver homemade pasta to her boyfriend who’s pulling an all-nighter for some graphic design project that’s due tomorrow.

30 Minutes Feels Like 30 Hours

The one who pretends this is “no big deal” while secretly calculating gas money and wondering if this is what love feels like or if I’m just losing my mind.

Care package assembly in progress

Marcus looked so grateful when I showed up with actual food instead of his usual diet of energy drinks and whatever’s left in his mini fridge (spoiler: it’s never anything good). He tried to act all casual like “oh hey, you didn’t have to drive all the way here” but then inhaled the entire container of carbonara in approximately four minutes.

Worth the drive

The worst part? I’m already planning when I can drive back this weekend.

Already calculating when I can drive back

Chapel Hill to Raleigh isn’t that far on paper, but when you’re doing it seven times a week between the two of you, it starts to feel like a cross-country expedition. We’re definitely that couple now - the one that spends more on gas than groceries and thinks a thirty-minute drive constitutes long distance. My roommate thinks I’m insane. She’s probably right.