I petted the cat in the left luggage room and now I can't bite my nails any more. Petting the cat was calming, but it just doesn't compare with the supreme calming effect of making my hands look really gross. And I think I have to pay millions of euro to wash my hands in a clean bathroom. And I usually bring hand-wipey things with me on account of my penchant for not wasting chocolate, but I don't have them this time. Belgium.
Generally speaking, I like night trains. To remark specifically on the subject of tonight's train, I am in love.
I slept for an hour last night between 2:30 and 3:30 and unfortunately could not make it to sleep on the plane from Dublin (a middle-aged punk with bleached hair in several different styles at once thought it would be cool to explain precisely why the water at Huntington Beach is not swimmable innable; he was Irish) or the bus from Treviso (Sufjan Stevens and his Christmas carols kept me giggling, which greatly perplexed the deliberately casual-looking German next to me). I get to sleep tonight.
What makes the whole deal even cooler is that I get to wake up to Italian caffe, and other stuff that makes life worth living, like sisters and Naples and that I will have new jeans when I get home and won't be wearing the ones I am now (they used to be too big and stretch and now they have no stretch and are MUCH too big). A long hot bath and an extended conversation with my cat/dragon are also in order, but something tells me I won't kill two birds with one stone if I try and consolidate the desired events.
By the time this is posted, I will probably be downloading the updates I've neglected for so long, and dealing out mince pies and bad news and hugs and stories to anyone in the close vicinity.
That is very exciting. Especially considering that I have about 3.5 hours left to wait for my train.
I am blogging to keep awake, I think. I could be reading, but the stuff about Courtly Love is actually starting to be interesting to me for reasons I can only explain away as a bizarre madness that has to do with a footnote related illness that insists on adding ligatures wherever possible. And I'd like to stay away from getting too engrossed until I absolutely must admit a mild interest.
That probably made no sense but I'm not going back to edit it because I'm too sleepy. Oooh! I know! I'll buy a coke! Then I will be jittery and sleepy and have a funny taste in my mouth.
The feeling of going home is an odd one, especially when I am so out of step with reality and sleep.