Crissy Milazzo is a writer living in Los Angeles.

12am, my bed in New Jersey – The lamp in front of my parents house has a shattered bulb so it just burns a flame at the end of our driveway year-round. That can’t be safe, right? Something about it is so home-y, though. If they fix it, I’ll be upset. It’s like my twin sized bed. The discomforts of home. I can’t sleep. I’m staring at the beaded rain on my window. I’ll miss rain. I’m taking a flight in the morning and every flight is like adult christmas- I’m too excited to sleep at all. Or just anxious. qI’ll be back in los angeles for the first time in two months, in my own apartment, in my own bed.

6:15 am, my mom’s car – I’m in the car on the way to the airport and I feel like I’m forgetting everything. Did I bring my passport? I always bring my passport. Where is it? Bras are falling out of my purse. Everything is overpacked, but underpacked considering I’ve been living here for two months after planning to visit for three weeks. I just realized that this day will be a time-warp to record- I’ll be at the 3PM mark when I get back to L.A. at noon PST.

7:12 am, Newark airport – I finessed into the TSA pre-check line. Always flirt with everyone all the time always.

7:15 am, security – White dudes from Texas in line joking with white dude TSA officers about having a torch lighter in their bag. America. Extremely good shit.

7:32 am, gate 32 – I have an hour until my flight boards. The moment of truth: do I drink? It’s 7:30 am. That would be pretty depressing.

7:41 am, bar – I’m drinking. I want to sleep on the plane.

7:43 am, bar – It is super depressing.

7:45 am, bar- Okay, it’s a mimosa, which is a morning drink. Or is that the kind of thing invented by alcoholics as a comfort mechanism? I don’t know. Something about this feels right. Or I’m kind of drunk.

7:47 am, bar – Listening to Diamonds Dancing for the thousandth time this week. Pretty dissonant to do in the airport at a smooth 8am. But somehow it’s syncing up. The more sad I am, the more I feel like I get Future.

7:59 am, bar – You’ve probably already gotten there, but something tells me in this moment that Drake probably texts with a lot of emojis and isn’t as much of a romantic wordsmith as we’re led to believe. No one else in this airport Ruby Tuesdays is listening to Drake.

8:02 am, bar – I’m like, thinking about how I’m nervous this won’t be interesting enough. I read some the other day to prep and they were more eventful. What if mine is just “Crissy got drunk in an airport Ruby Tuesdays”?

8:05 am, bar – That would be kind of on-brand.

8:14 am, bar – I lie and tell the waitress the eggs were good. They were very obviously poured out of a bottle or made from a sand-like powder. I hope she doesn’t ask everyone that question.

8:28 am, boarding the plane – I am in a fantastic mood and I really hope I don’t die on this flight. I’m not scared of flying, I just think about dying every time I get on a plane. I do the same thing with cars. I feel like it’s a weird OCD defense, like “if I think about it, it won’t happen.”

9:06 am, seat 20F – The Virgin America safety video: why?

9:12 am, seat 20F – We’re in pacific time now. I just slept on the plane for three hours. I’m up now and I feel like I’ve been dragged by the plane on a tether through several dusty states. Why does every nap age you five fucking years? My stomach is grumbling and I really have to pee, but I’m the window seat. To lap dance my neighbors or not to lap dance my neighbors? That is the question.

9:40 am, seat 20F – After my neighbors politely got out into the aisle and refused the lapdance, I am refreshed and ready to watch the two hours of ‘the Affair’ I just ordered.

9:41 am, seat 20F –  with a pool scene, so you know it’s good.

9:46 am, seat 20F – The middle aged women next to me are hardcore judging me for this sex scene I’m watching.

10:16 am, seat 20F – Paused the show to do some re-con of my new phone’s camera album. Deleted selfies, walked down memory lane. A lot of my friends have left los angeles since I went away for two months and I’ll miss them. My first year in LA was spent trying to find friends and my second year will be spent trying to keep them there. Being back will be strange. What will I even do today? I’d like to say I’ll grocery shop. But.

10:19 am, seat 20F – We’re flying over some very beautiful rock formations. Everything is red and sepia toned and looks like someone dragged a hand through it, raked out the canyons on purpose. Sometimes shit like this makes me understand why people believe in God more than anything else. Am I a child?

10:35 am, seat 20F – Because of me, the middle aged woman next to me just saw a sex scene in which a woman reaches around to touch a man’s ass.

11:18 am, seat 20F – The TV stopped working so I’m not going to finish ‘the Affair’ in the remaining 30 minutes of our descent. This is pretty upsetting, but maybe I’m repaying my debt for the time I watched all of ‘the Slap’ in 12 hours.

11:35 am, seat 20F – I’m baaaaaaa-aaaack.

12:29 PM, Hertz lot – took the Hertz shuttle from the airport so I could get to a place to get an uber because they don’t go there. This was dishonest but smart. I walked around the Hertz lot for like ten minutes before I found a way out. It’s hot but breezy. I feel like I can feel salt in the air, there’s a light,  pleasant stickiness.

12:49 PM, uber- This will be the longest Uber of my life.

1:00 PM, uber – I’m bored in the Uber so I open a dating app my friend downloaded for me in Philly. The first person I see is a guy I used to hook up with. I close the app and pray I don’t show up on his feed too. I think it might be time for me to accept that dating apps will never work for me, really. I’m terrible at them. I mismatch myself horribly. I don’t want to wade through hundreds of “whiskey enthusiasts” who “love adventure” anymore. At least not online.

1:35 pm, my place- Back in my apartment. Weird. My room is bare like I’ve never lived in it. We’d just moved it before I left. My neighbors are pumping the bass and I want to kill them. Home sweet home.

1:39, my place- I think I’m going to a birthday party at 8:30 tonight. What am I going to do for 7 hours?

2:34 pm, my place – Should I sleep more? Clean? Sleep then clean? My neighbors are so loud. I call our landlord and they tell me to call the police. No. I’ll just blast Law & Order SVU til it’s over. In my own way, I am involving the police.

3:13 pm, my place – The neighbors have stopped, I’ve had pad thai and I have no idea what to do for five hours.

3:15 pm, couch- Detective Benson has a fucking kid?!

4:17 pm, couch – I wish I could tell you I haven’t been watching Law & Order SVU for two hours, but I can’t give you that.

5:48 pm, couch- Keeping a record of this makes me realize that I’ve been watching SVU for over three hours. I sang happy birthday to my little brother on the phone, though. He’s 18 today.

5:52 pm, couch- I’m gonna leave this couch.

6:54 pm, bathroom – That shower was transformative, even though I cut my thigh and bled everywhere. Being a woman is so metal.

7:48 pm, uber – I’m in an uber on the way to dinner in west hollywood. The driver has no radio or aux cord so I’m blasting Drake on my phone. It’s a tense situation. My shower wound is killing me. Time to drink about it.

7:55 pm, uber – Somehow I feel like I’m on a vacation. I can’t wait to be around people. Everything on Santa Monica blvd feels like summer and I don’t want to go backwards. I want to see people and hear how things are different.

7:57 pm, uber – ‘Karaoke’ just came on. I’m smiling thinking about how my friend called it the only song to have sex to. I feel more at ease with this uber driver even though he’s not in on the joke.

9:09 pm, santa monica blvd – I’m walking from dinner to the pre game and sweating. We went to a mediocre sushi place, but the company was good. I haven’t seen Sophia or Tarrin in months; they were my first friends in L.A. We catch up seamlessly, Sophia and I are both wearing 90’s black dresses. We buy mini bottles of Jameson and head out. On the sort of sweaty walk, we pass the spot where Tarrin saved a kitten once, from a roof. He brags. These are familiar patterns of conversation. I feel like I’m watching slats slide into place.

9:41 pm, Keya’s place – he pre game is in full swing with less than 12 people arguing over aux cord privileges. I hate when people can’t separate alone music from party music. I’m hoping to see more people out at the bar than there are here. Even with seeing everyone, it feels like two months ago. Someone puts on an early 2000’s hip hop playlist and Sophia and I get really into it, like second string video hos.

10:01 pm, Keya’s place – When are we leaaaaaving? I’ve run out of alcohol to drink. I’m becoming more childish. In my head, I rank the atractiveness of my male friends present. I wonder if guys are always doing that.

10:05 pm, Keya’s place- Outkast’s ‘Bombs Over Baghdad’

10:10 pm, in an uber – The uber driver offers me the aux cord on sight. We blast ‘Diamonds Dancing’ and our pull up to the bar is fittingly disruptive.

10:25 pm, a bar- the prohibition era bar is my least favorite L.A. staple. A man in a tophat lets us in after we give a password and we order overpriced drinks. I’m trying not to be bitter. I look forward to the day when all of my conversations aren’t just catch-up about my recent trip. I get sad when I have the thought “all conversations are catchup.”

11:10 pm, on a weird couch- Cody tells me he’s living in the valley. He has four bathrooms. I laugh at this justification and I think of him walking proudly around his place, looking at the bathrooms every day. Sophia and I are the only ones dancing. I don’t know most people here and I’m sitting on a sort of ottoman, thinking of sending some texts I shouldn’t send.

11:23 pm, table – Fetty Wap’s ‘679’ comes on. Instead of drunk texting, I dance on a table.

12:33 am, outside the bar – I realize the day of recording is over. I take a cigarette from Tarrin and make an early exit. Did enough things happen? My thoughts slur and I don’t want to tell anyone what they are, but I look out onto the freeway and it’s palm tree-d borders and realize I don’t have to. I go to bed with them instead.