Up at an early hour: 06:30. Bus for train, waiting at the station, train to the airport, pink-purple suitcase sent as special luggage due to shiny sparkling. Never had that issue before. Department from D7, my favorite Klingon starship. Bottle (not battle) of sparkling water: Check. Outfit: Black coat, blue jeans, Spice's scarf. Didn't bother adding more nail polish, the chipped cracks looks fashionable fine. I keep checking my wristwatch. But for what? I know the time. Am I nervous? Probably. What awaits me in around four to five hours is seeing Spice again. 12 days since last time. And now we'll spend longer than that together. Of course I'm nervous. Eager. Waiting.
The Story of O is a good book, but must be sampled in small portions.
Alas, gate changed to D11. The usual one at the end, not surprising. Still, I don't think the KDF had a D11 commissioned. Seat was also D11. Funny, that. Didn't even consider the later flight offer for 250,- EURO: wanted and needed to see and hold Spice again. Without delay.
And without delay we are underway. My thoughts fly ahead of me and the plane. Thoughts of caress and kisses, of images from the book come to life, of the soft ticking of time, time immemorial, of the tone and language of expression. How the warm air inside the airplane is of a temperature pleasing to me. How this marks a change.
Plane landed early, luggage delayed, Spice stuck in traffic.
Change of plans due to evilness on behalf of the relationship. Proper greeting back home, then gifts, bath (Spice is the best) and packing far into the night.
Nail polish: removed.
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Up ungodly early again. Luggage weighted and redistributed. Breakfast at the lovely Frankfurt train station. Bus delayed. Warm yawning breath on cold hands. Most of the journey was spent in attempted sleep. Slowly getting warm again. Sun and old radio music.
The police passport control took me off guard, but Spice explained this was commonplace when not crossing the border by car. She also nailed her language lesson (of course).
We walked from the central station (Who's heard about Amsterdam anyway?) with luggage, found the hotel (Thanks, Google!) and ended up with a small room with a view of the canal. Dinner at the hotel.
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Tuesday we debated whom farted most like a lady. My debit card stopped working.
Rotterdam experiences were limited and brief, other focuses took president. There was also reading, and a bowl of fruit for breakfast dessert. Tonight we could not spot the full moon due to cloudy skies.
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Cruise ships seems to come in at night, stay for the day, and leave in the evening. Not a particular interest to either of us. Good talks, croissant for breakfast (again), hot water and fruit dessert bowl (pineapple, grapes and melons), time spent in bed, quick grocery store run. Sparkling water.
The daywalker went out during the day, I went out during the early evening, catching the last of today's sunlight. Places to dine were discovered by us both. Goth outfits, wonderful meal, lots of cute, small dogs noticed.
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Revenge of the Nose: The Pierced Septum.
Day spent in bed, talking. Italian spaghetti, steel collar, shopping and location finding. Conversation with waves underneath. Bridge crossing. Dark and disturbing topics put at ease.
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New day, sunlight through the window, breakfast, trying out outfits for various settings (not found the one for the Rebirthday party just yet). Purple for the hot German summer.
Lots of reading out loud, lots of pretty preparation, lots of conversation and bed time stay. We've not been very good tourists. The bread in the restaurant may be present at breakfast! I shall ask for it, as it was delicious. Today, Friday, was a special day for another reason, too, but that's personal. Always look on the bright side of life. hums Always look on the bright Syde of life.
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Sometimes people have piercings in their juice. And sometimes the thing you know how to say in German is "I don't know" - because that's funny - and sometimes a waistcoat is just a vest. My coworker in the local department proved to be a disappointment - twice. Tourist stuff was planned for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to having the restaurant brown bread for breakfast again.
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The day of the funeral of the boots. Beloved, worn, faithful, we thank you for your service. For providing fashion and proper protection for our feet, we salute you. Goodbye, boots. You will be missed. Also, no brown restaurant bread for breakfast today, but special Easter breakfast tomorrow. With bunnies!!
We crossed the bridge together again, as an end of tourist stuff - one highlight was greet-petting a small dog of five months that loved humans. No open church, sadly. We reveled in the pleasures of the flesh. Apple tart, coffee, blood orange ginger beer, freshly housekept hotel room, industrial electronic base on loudspeaker, thoughts of Red Alert soundtrack, packing yet to be done. Another late night packing session, but this time it was my fault (I blame the alien). Tomorrow there might be bunnies for breakfast.
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Disappointing "special" breakfast, no brown restaurant bread, no bunnies, but at least a competent member of staff present. Slow walk to the bus stop, cold, bus on time, no passport control (miffed about that), long time travel, one bought book almost read through, warm welcome home, Easter gifts, pizza (with pineapple, of course) for dinner, early evening for me after pacing and eating.
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Unexpected and unwelcomed wakening during the night. Late rising, two cups of warmth, outfits and clothing tried on, Rebirthday party wear suggested. Read out the first bought bus-travel-book, started on Sugar's gift. Good book.
Gift of blood given. Pictures taken. Place of worship visited (without Alistair sugar radio voice - Spice laughed so hard that a random passerby smiled at us). An unfair move by the witch. Double chung-chung before washing and making ready for public appearance. The library remains cozy. Library evening study time even cozier. Night shift mode activated, pleasant human interaction sub-routine running.
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Rebirthday. Breakfast at the place, massage (Thai), ink expert and general wonderful human being consultation, lunch at the German witch on a broomstick chain, Hugh Grant inexperienced at a calling center, aka Captain. Hazbin Hotel, card game (won 3 of 4 rounds). A good day.
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Earth colors worn, future outfits debated, golden yellow-orange spring/autumn dress in my mind, but not with black high boots. In the library I positioned myself to view the river flowing away around the bend. No blood amulet nor blood pendant today, a chain of silver and a golden necklace with a timepiece attached hanging from our necks. Murmurs of humans and unconfirmed plans for shopping. Audible wind and rain. I move position to a power outlet suitable for phone charging after a bathroom visit. My seat remains comfortable orange. Third position, same couch as second, after lunch and shopping (no rain at the time), more electricity siphoned. Sunlight made me miss sunglasses and a smile on behalf of Spice's fondness for it. And then back to the constructed greenery sitting near the librarian interaction desk by the entrance/exit for visiting fans of the written word.
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Dressed in an attire worthy of an Apollo worshipping priestess in Ancient Greece, I came bringing gifts of food without ill intent - a promise fulfilled. Being a representative of the Sun was amazing. And another pair of shoes now mine, also a gift. Next door coffee in drinkable cups, three: one for the librarian, one for the part-time trainee, and one for the visitor.
Hair dresser experience with the nails after breakfast. Frankly further.
And then, because of an untimely death in the family, all plans became paused. It's been a while since I've been at a hospital, first time as an outsider to a tragedy, observing the pain of loss, myself unaffected. Wrong. Instantly one is pulled into a potential family feud with a legal battle on the horizon. The evening was spent in support of the one left behind.
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Rebirthday party. Purple shades, sun and warmth on the balcony, blood pendant the only jewelry besides the three word ring. Cake and colors. Stark contrast clashing with yesterday's sudden event.
I am happy. I am accepted. And my superpower does not clash with anybody else's.
Will formulate an e-letter to the writer next week.
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I'm a chicken, what do I know of the bomb? Looking through the salad for sausages. Agent of misfortune. Playboy, drinker, bad swimmer.
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The journey home.
But it's not home. Home is where the heart is. My heart belongs to somebody else.
I'm already missing my bun-bun.
