I'm only five hours into my ridiculously wastefully long voyage to Amsterdam. I woke (not sure if you can wake from not sleeping) at 4am, drove to the New Orleans airport at 5am, hopped on a flight to Houston at 7am, found a flight heading for San Francisco at 8am, and am now sitting at Firewood Cafe 2 (yes 2!) at the San Francisco airport enjoying a Pinot Grigio where I will wait for the next two hours until my 4pm flight to Amsterdam. Sunday IS my funday!
The last three weeks have been a whirlwind. I decided when I first arrived sleep is not my priority and so not much of it was had. I am tired. In fact, this may be the first time ever that I would prefer to go home to my own bed instead of continue exploring. Two weeks in Amsterdam sounds good only because I know there is a bed there, where I will have an excuse (just traveled a looooong time) to snuggle inside of it early tomorrow afternoon. Yes, I'm dreaming of my next sleep that won't arrive until tomorrow. I'm thinking a 5pm bedtime. If sleep doesn't come right away, a bottle of Jack Daniels has stowed away inside my running shoe just in case.
Sleep. I miss you.
I miss my very comfy bed in Oakland. I miss my bike. I miss 72 degree days where I drink my coffee on the front porch sunning my exceedingly white legs, that because of short dresses and South Louisiana heat are no longer white. I miss open windows and cool breezes. I miss Lake Merritt. I miss going to the gym. I miss my early morning runs. I miss thinking that if only I knew how to build a fire I would totally use my fireplace. I miss staring at the desk I have yet to complete building and thinking fuck I soooo don't want to finish building this desk. I miss my tiny closet that barely fits all my coats, much less dresses, shirts, the dozens of scarfs I've collected over the years, and my shoes. Oh I really miss all my shoes, especially the ones I use for sitting.
But mostly I miss sleep. Restful sleep. I miss my restful Oakland sleep.
Don't get confused when I mention all the things I miss. I happen to be at the very beginning of a deepening loss for New Orleans and Acadiana. I almost did not get on my flight this morning. I paused . . . just for a moment, but I paused and thought of staying.
There are many things I want to share about my trip to New Orleans. Darryl, Cyn, Manhattans, Biloxi, the gobs of oil I grabbed from the bottom of the Gulf, the New Iberia Gumbo Festival, the BP tent at the New Iberia Gumbo Festival, Oaklawn Manor, Franklin lamposts, St. John Elementary, the country of 601 Napolean Ave, that tiny little kid playing the accordian, Centerville Grocery, the PT cruiser, the Bayou, and a number of other fascinating things that I made me pause outside gate D3. But right now, I'm going to finish this second glass of wine, download the latest Rachel Maddow podcast, and get on my very long plane ride to Amsterdam.