So I’m leaving for Barcelona tomorrow, with absolutely no money to travel with that I know of (except for a couple euros which do nothing in helping me get from 121 Redland Road to Bristol International airport), no internet, no phone credit, and no remaining free texts. Which means I’m effectively cut off from the rest of the world, until someone decides to call me. It’s a quite scary feeling, especially since I’m reading this creepy ass book called the raw shark texts that deals with this man running from a conceptual shark that feeds on thoughts and dreams and memories and ideas and turns the physical, solid world into a black roiling ocean that threatens to utterly swallow him. It’s really freaking me out but I can’t stop reading it. And I have no distractions.
I mean, I should be cleaning and finishing what packing I can do before my trip tomorrow but…eh.
Every distant thud makes me thing of that damn shark. The ludovician. What kind of mind THINKS UP a story like this? It’s ridiculous, and terrifying. Because it seems almost plausible, in that really crazy way that real life operates sometimes.
I should walk down to the city center to say goodbye to everybody, and then knock on Nicole’s door and hope she’s there so I can use her computer and we can figure out what’s happening tomorrow. But I just really really don’t want to move.
I mean, no one’s called me or anything. I don’t really want to labor under the delusion that anyone is missing me.
I just got caught up in packing; I’m really sorry, I’ll tell you when I’m visiting France/Spain/Finland/wherever, and you know, whatever, no one is going to miss me that much anyway.
I took a long nap today with the window open, woke up cold, hungry, with a scratchy throat, and my gums are slightly aching because I always clench them when I take midday naps. I still feel weird and off-balance.
I need to get my clothes from the laundry room. I hate the idea of bringing back dirty clothes but whatever.
I have to throw out all my food and pots and pans and what not. Empty wine bottles. Vaccum. Vacuuming makes the room smell so weird, I hate doing it. I’ll do it on Saturday. I’m hoping with Christian and Seppo’s help packing will be a quick affair.
Flight is at 10:30 tomorrow morning. Check in opens at 8:30. I guess we should leave for the airport around 8. It only takes about half an hour to get there. I much prefer being too early and sitting around rather than rushing, like we did for France and Greece, although Greece was pretty much my fault.
I feel so weird. I kind of want to shower for a long time but I don’t feel like dealing with myself naked, I’m not in a good body mood right now.
I just wish SOMEONE WOULD CALL ME. It’s so weird to feel cut off from the world like this.
Should I just go down to the city center? It’s just such a long long trip to make, and for what? For what. I’m just tired. I’m tired of feeling like I’m forcing my company on people who wouldn’t miss me or even think of me once if I wasn’t there. On the outside looking in even when for all intents and purposes I am in. I wonder if that feeling ever ever goes away.
So many people I won’t get to say good bye to. But does it really matter? Does it? I don’t know.
I just want to go home now.
Barcelona feels weird; why are we going to Barcelona? I’ve just been feeling so weird about everything lately? Are we even really going? Has this all been a big joke? Question marks???
Why does the lack of internet make me feel so strange, so inhuman? This is a sad state of affairs. But it is the state of affairs, nonetheless. It’s like I need cyberspace and wires and letters and electronic notifications to validate my existence. If I’m going on a trip and can’t twitter about it, am I really going? What am I even talking about.
I feel like I’m trapped in a corner. This is horrible. WHY DID THEY SHUT OFF THE INTERNET SO EARLY. I can’t take this.
I feel hungry and full at the same time.
I bought a brand new small bottle of olive oil a couple days ago. Don’t ask me why. I’ve been thinking I’d have to throw it but why don’t I just bring it home with me? A nice little bottle of Sainsbury brand olive oil. A weird and absolutely domestic Bristol souvenir.
So many things. So many things I haven’t done, places I haven’t seen, people I haven’t had coffee with. The things I’ve failed to do and see and go could fill volumes. It’s not worth it. Not worth it to think about it. Who can really do everything, anyway. I’ve done a lot.