This time last year I was in London as part of my London/Paris trip. In honor of the promised blog posts about the trip, which may never happen, I give you the following. I don't want to give to much preface. I want to save the whole story for a real post. Lets just say what you are about to read was written in an extreme state of sleep deprivation and lack of eating. My overnight plane landed at six am and I couldn't get into my hotel room until two pm. I had to have my luggage with me all the time so I decided to try and write about my first day experience. This was the unedited result:
From front door to hotel. Two days that merged into one long tiring one.
The day of the trip begins with about 5 hours of solid sleep followed by desperately seeking sleep by lying in bed for several hours only catching fitful bits of slumber as my cat sat on top of me and purred. This made my start time later than I wanted. I rushed over to the office to do a couple of things before I could leave town. cruise the boring corn field filled three hour drive to my appointed Taxi pick-up spot at a friends place. I cut it really close and only arrive about 20 minutes before the cab pulls up.
A slight geography lesson is needed at this point.
And I left my ipod loaded with podcasts back in my car.
It’s like I’m not even real anymore. I am floating across the tops of the images of the London that are passing by. They mingle in a poetic managerie with the talk show hosts that are discussing teacher pensions in the UK and the argument the Indian bus driver is having with is wife over bluetooth. It seems he mentioned Paris to Gua but not that he wants to go to Paris and that’s it’s hard to explain. The bus, which wouuld be tiny in the US feels huge at it dances and darts around the narrow streets. I am not a afraid though, in my current state my conscience would just float away if I died. It would linger above London like a sleep deprived feeling but not thinking mass.
Now I sit in the lobby of my hotel which what seems to be the entire population of eastern Europe, letting slavic languages cascade across my sleep deprived addled mind. It’s with dull and unseeing eyes I look around and see the petulant children and excited students. I haven’t slept in 24 hours or eaten in 12. I’m not hungry and I am not sleepy. I’ve moved beyond the point where I can feel such things. Perhaps sleep deprivation is the ultimate drug. It’s fun to sit here and try to determine someones nationality from just what you can see. How some dressses, awalks and interacts with other expressed a great deal. I don’t even need to hear them talk over the weird lounge music playing through my headphones. The Russians begin drinking before noon.
Bravely stupidly I fought on and decided to do the one thing I had planned for my first day. The British Museum.
Don’t watch the original willi wonkas chocolate factory on sleep deprivation. Those Oompahs are freaky man.
28 hours without sleep and 13 hours without eating... weirdness.