Merry Ol’

I’m fucking exhausted, but at least I’m here, relatively safe and sound. What an ordeal it’s been so far! After two weeks of barely sleeping, I took a catnap after work on Friday, only to have a half-hour barrage of stupid nightmares. So I gave up on that idea, and just lugged my cheapskate ass out to JFK via the subway. Keep in mind that thw two subways and the shuttlebus to the terminal take almost an hour-and-a-half. So I get there, haul my bag through the long check-in line, and the guy at the counter is suprised that no one told me my flight was cancelled weeks ago. Well, it turns out that the ticket they issued me way back when was accidentally put in for the 16th of October, that’s why no one told me! OK, so I’m not having a tantrum, ’cuz that’s not my style, but I’m aggravated as all get-out. Needless to say, everything leaving for London that night is booked, but I can get a 8:30 flight the next morning. Hmmm, that would mean leaving the house at about 4 a.m., right? Thanks, sir, that’s very helpful.

I didn’t want to haul ass all the way back home for a four-hour nap, possibly filled with more stress-induced nightmares. Also, I would be in such a foul mood that my roommate would have to fear for his life, for no other reason that he would be within striking distance. So I decide distraction would be in order. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to leave my bags at the airport, so I couldn’t really ditch them and go to the movies and an East Village pub crawl, which was my first thought. I remembered, though, that friends were having a little get-together at their swanky new pad near Wall Street, so I decided to go there and hang out and check out the new Xbox. It was a good plan, although it didn’t occur to me that when I got out of the subway I would be looking directly at the Area Formerly Known as the World Trade Center, unexpectedly getting my first close glimpse of the burnded, twisted rubble of the complex. That threw me for a loop, to say the least.

But the diversion with pals did wonders for my morale and gave me a place to nap in their deliciously minimalist studio, and at four I dragged myself right back to JFK. All went slowly but pretty well from there, even though a nine-hour delay left me with a lot of running around to do once I got to London. I dropped my bags at Jonathan’s flat, and zipped off to meet my local friend before he got off work at a pub called the Coleherne somewhere on the other side of town. I didn’t quite make it time, but caught a little of the tail end of their grand re-opening party before heading back to his nearby bed-sit. Not as swanky as the Greene estate perhaps, but it had a warm, if tiny, bed and I had been up for almost 36 hours straight at this point, and could barely remember my own name.

Today has been a bit of a low-key blur, wandering around with this friend trying to work out some of the details of the rest of my stay. Which looks like it will settle down soon, thankfully. Another night of sleep and I might even be able to carry my end of a conversation.

More to come, no doubt.