Just got back from the obligatory outing for food. I was out of my hotel room for only half an hour, then right back in and I don’t feel bad about that. I need to rest. I need to recover. I’m on Day 8 of 12 in a row of flying and I was very sick on Day 1. I blame the Charlie Sheen/Amy Winehouse weekend we had on the Guadalupe as to why I was sick to begin with. I’m not a teenager anymore and I really need days to recover from things like that, not working a stretch of 12 days starting the very next day. It was the absolute worst time to be sick but there was nothing to do about it. I need money.
I could’ve taken it easy on the layovers but I had plans for three of the four and they were set in stone. This Madrid one is the only one I had free for R and R. I have it highlighted on my calendar with a big smiley face and exclamation marks.
The first trip was to London the same night that I left Austin. That was when I was really hurting. I ached all over with a fever and sore throat. But I had a date to go to Ghost the Musical in the West End with two lovely co-workers followed by an after party with the cast and crew. That day included way too much champagne before, during, and after the performance and not enough food, but it was fun talking with the actor that played Willy Lopez, the thug-life killer.
I don’t even remember what I did when I got back to New York but the night probably started and ended with NyQuil, again with no food. I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be starving or feeding this damn thing!
Next day was Paris and I was surprised to find that I was starting to feel a little better. I really thought the London layover would take its toll and send me back to Square One. We were a bit delayed getting to the hotel because of a flight attendant and an asshole passenger getting into a fight and having the police meet us at the gate, but I still got a decent nap in before meeting my Aussie friend and her mom at their hotel just off the Champs Elysees.
I blame the stew just as much as the passenger for that whole mess. The drunk girls in the row behind the PAX didn’t help matters at all. Everyone even the least bit involved made it so much worse. I didn’t think it was worth it to get the police involved; nothing was going to happen to the guy. Sure enough, they scared him a bit and then let him go on his way like nothing ever happened.
I got to the Hotel Powers just after 2pm and at around 8pm we finally left the room, but only to go back to the liquor store because our three bottles of wine were gone. This time we got champagne and some random drink called Desperado that infused beer and tequila and red. I think red may have been the healthiest thing in there. It’s the sort of purchase you make only after drinking three bottles of wine without any food. We did think about food when we were getting reinforcements but it was all for show, God knew it didn’t matter at that point if I ate or not. By the time I left the hotel after midnight I had only eaten 7 little pickles and about 30 crackers with hummus on it.
Again, I was hoping to finally get some rest but plans get in the way. My Swedish friend is getting kicked out of our country in two weeks so I’m making sure I hang out with her and her boyfriend as much as possible when I’m in New York. I got in from Paris, watched the World Cup final, and then headed straight out to the Brooklyn Bridge to meet my friends. We walked across the bridge, took some pictures, stood in line at Grimaldi’s for an hour, ate a ton of pizza, and then called it a night. I resisted the urge to stay out and watch a movie. I knew I needed the rest. I promised we could have a big night very soon, just not that night. I was proud of making the right decisions regarding my health.
So now I’m in Madrid and the weather is beautiful out there. People are having amazing, memorable days in Spain and I could not care less. I don’t feel bad at all about not doing anything. I have a stack of Netflix I’ve been carrying around for three weeks and now more than ever I need to be good about getting those things watched and back to whence they came. I think I’m going to cancel my membership.
An hour or so ago I washed the jeans I’ve been wearing everyday for the last week in the sink with shampoo. They needed it, though I’m not sure they’ll be dry by the time I need to leave in nine hours. I didn’t think of that.
Tomorrow night in New York there are more plans to hang out with my soon to be Departed Friends and I’m hoping we can keep it substance free. The big night out I promised will NOT be happening tomorrow night if I can help it.
My final trip of this ungodly stretch is back to London and there are more plans with my favorite people there. Even though I intend to sleep before going out, it doesn’t really happen there for some reason, too many distractions. Then finally, FINALLY when I get back to New York from that London trip I can head over to Blue Jet and take the last flight out of New York back to Austin. Just thinking about being in my own bed sounds heavenly.
The pillows here in Madrid are horrible, as they were in Paris. I don’t get why they’d make pillows like that, all long and skinny and hard. In Paris they’re just way too fluffy. When they sit on the bed they look so big and full but when you put your head on them they deflate so that your head is practically touching the mattress, no support at all. They look like tortillas when you microwave them.
I can sleep really well in the beds in London, when I’m given the time to sleep.
When I went out for food I forgot which city I was in until I saw a juggler in the middle of the intersection, working for tips from the people stopped at the red light. I saw some very pretty girls with horrible bangs and ugly frames around their glasses, then it was obvious that I was in Spain. I think I’m going to see if the pant presser can do anything about drying these jeans.