I called my place a freaky hotel room once, she overheard it and repeats it ever since. Why, you live there, she keeps asking. I do, most of the time, yet it still feels more like a hotel room rather than a real home.
It's late at night, I'm slightly cranky and on my own. It's been like that for over five months now. Sleeplessness is becoming occasional and does not bother me anymore.
Flew in from Portugal and am off to Turkey shortly, followed by Slovakia and finally States by the end of next week. That's awesome, say some. Is it? Can a good life be measured by frequent flyer miles? Bank account balance? Number of Facebook friends?
Tonight, I'm having a movie night supported by Red Bull and chocolate. All good, just the usual dose of whinge. I'll get by hugging the pillow.
