Thursday, May 21, 2009

Captain's log: Stardate Post-Landing 19-21.05.09

19.05.09, post-arrival
Haul my luggage off the conveyor belt. Ignore the noises my suitcase that is basically cheesecloth stretched over a cardboard frame made as I lifted the handle of the 30 kg of dirty laundry, old opera scores, a beer stein, shoes, and dresses I didn't really need but bought anyways, convincing me that I actually do have a problem. Hugged my dad, got home and did the same to my mum and my dog. Despite not sleeping for 28 hours, and only getting 2 hours of sleep the night before that, I don't go to sleep right away, staying up and pondering unpacking. I don't.

I spend most of the day thinking that it's already Thursday. Wake up at 6, go to the YMCA, full of energy. After 45 minutes of fat-burning, exhausted. Drink coffee. Psyched. Take Rudy to vet, get sushi, valentines materials with Kenz. Get tired again. More coffee. Second wind. Open up my suitcases, take out half of my dirty laundry. Lay out clean clothing on bed, but don't put it away. Dinner at Masa with Christine, her BF, and Jessica. Impromptu drive back to Seatac, drink tea while trying not to fall asleep. Third wind. Jessica says that I should go visit people, that they really want to see me.
Really? Skeptical.
Yes. She directs me to the house.
After three unconvincing phone calls, convince myself it was just too late. Go home, move clean laundry to the floor, stay up watching House and knitting.

Wake up an hour before my alarm (alarm: 7:00). Try to go back to sleep, but after a half hour put on my sneakers. Work out. This could become a habit, perhaps. Weigh myself. Am surprised to discover that after 5 months of Viennese pastries and beer, I've lost 15 pounds. Poop, then weigh myself again. Enough of a shocking difference for a normal poo to warrent two frantic text messages to the only people who are used to text messages either in a hypochondriac panic or about poop. Finish socks, washcloth. Cast on another washcloth and sample socks. Was told they were worsted weight socks that would go quickly, but they're fingering weight yarn full of vegetation on size 2 needles. Take a shower so long that my dad comes pounding on the door. Weigh myself again. Poop. Scale. Move same pile of clean laundry onto bed, but don't hang up anything. Remove exactly three balls of yarn, one pair of underwear, and a skirt from suitcase and consider it enough unpacking for today.

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