You know how afraid you are of loneliness when everything you have subconsciously planned to prevent it (in the name of avoiding bordom) breaks down. Your MP3 player is dying on you after 22 hours of endless play and your handphone declares in red you have 27% of energy left in the battery. You are trying as hard as you can to read your book like a crawling snail because if you finish it, you won't know what else to do. To make things worse, your laptop is in your luggage which you stupidly checked in and so you sit here, in the blue dimness of the airport and pay $5 to use a slow computer for fifteen minutes (during which the cranky mouse malfunctions with a life of its own and the keyboard feels like soft, sticky jelly).
I am tired after 3 months of hedonistic self-indulgence and self-exploration. I have pushed every button and crashed head-first past the lines of limitations and now I feel like a burning car wreck, leaving strands of hair and fingerprints in the nooks and cracks of places. It was fun, it was, but-. I want to creep into my own bed and hide under the covers where there is a fuzzy smelly puppy named Lucky sleeping.
It was 1.30am in New York, now it's 9.30 pm in LA and god knows what time it will be when I reach Taiwan. I have spent more than 15 hours in absolute silence and I have another 23 hours to go.
Maybe I should take a walk.