Her stormy brows.

LOG #1: ...3days and counting... Sarita and I are starting to lose it. She has been sitting curled up in the corner, moaning for days now, mumbling, and swaying. Her eyes have been darting around like little flies that are desperately trying to escape the confinements of a window, not realising that is has been opened but 2 inches from there fumbling attempts... I don't know what to do. I've tried talking, I've tried coaxing her with chocolate, I've tried scrubbing her down with Pat's dirty shoes... but nothing works. So I've resorted to senseless shrills into her tiny little ears. Still nothing. She does not blink. She does not move... until she looked at me and began to smile... and then cackle... into hysterics that could only be understood as last attempts at morality. Finally, when the tears had been shed, hers from laughter, mine from fear... we looked at eachother once more and simultaneously yelled "we're going to motha f*cking Spain!!!!!!!!!!" ...the spell had been lifted, the gas had been passed, the music stopped skipping and we began to dance. What a relief!.. Relief?...perhaps this is only the beginning... perhaps.