Days of hiking in the mountains and making love to my companion did not clear my head at all. What's wrong with you, I'm being asked at a dinner, repeatedly, always. Nothing's wrong, I answer, unable to come up with a more appropriate and articulate answer. I'm blank. It lingers atrociously but I won't tell.
Kissing her good-bye meant to be a sort of a relief. Meant, nevertheless was not. She's gone and I have plenty more time to spare. A blonde feels like talking to me on a train. I don't feel like talking to anybody. She gives up after few sentences. God bless her.
Sleeping till midday, then flipping through TV channels over and over and lifelessly turning pages in a newspaper. Day after day.
Trying to party only to find myself somehow hanging in a vacuum. Smoking pot does not move me a single yard forward. I want to go. Splitting.
Back on a plane, I'm glad it's over. Perhaps I need a busy schedule, strict time management and no gaps left to reflect. Or maybe I should go look for a different continent — until I find a spring one.
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