After ten days of solid lugging about a giant suitcase, a full-on oil canvas and all sorts of other random crap that gets public transport commuters all uppity, and after a long and smashing trip, it’s good to be home.
At least for now.
For one, You get to take a shower. Going plane to plane, train to train, you gonna start to smell. And it’s probably going to be really rank.
If you live alone, your place is [usually] how you left it
That’s if you haven’t been ransacked/cleaned out by the fingers of a thousand thieves. It does cross your mind in the unlikeliest of situations. You’ll be sipping on a fuckwhoppingly expensive beer in a Muslim country, having the time of your life and suddenly you’re like, ‘Fuck. Hope I haven’t been burgled.’
Or browsing a neon aisle in Camden, entitled ‘Techno Sex’ (Can.You.Dig.it?), pondering whether you could get away with a whoring pink tutu in the office and suddenly it’s like, ‘Shit. I wonder whether my car will be there when I get home?’
But if all is well, you don’t come home to piles of minging dishes, you do your laundry naked, and you can place the Afghan Girl painting in the bathroom. [She’ll be watching you, if you ever get the privilege to use my bog.] And no one can give me grief about my Amazing.com décor.
You don’t have to go out
Ripping the ring out of it.com. That’s what you do when you’re in crazy cities like London and Istanbul. Rip it hard.com, push through.dot, and then feel vom.com in the morning after a huge night out in London with yer mates.
And. You don’t have to worry about gallivanting around a pub full of Footie fans, while South Africa canes the Lions. And you’re thinking, ‘Look at your bad self with all them tough stickers inked onto your arms,’ and you’re wearing your bloomers like so:
[The Aussies in there hated us too. Sorry we were painting everyone’s nails. But seriously, with everyone sporting the same colour nails – men and women – one can’t deny the commaderie. So we are mental. There’s always a moment for Essie. Even in an English pub.]
You get to absorb and ponder. Like this quote for instance:
Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armour so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like smile at you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should just be friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-heart, a real-gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.’ - Neil Gaiman.
Heavy. But an excellent reminder. In the event I'd ever let that happen to me again.
You can listen to one track on repeat.
Admit it, you do it too. Killing songs is my vibe. Am I alone here?