My by now familiar flight is in about two hours from now. I have not packed a single thing yet. And sleep, last night, was just a brief encounter on the journey from one side of the hotel bed to the other.
This particular visit to Frankfurt was perhaps one of the most satisfying ones in many ways; yet it was a disappointing one in some others. The old city managed to surprise with a new set of ideas. And I do not understand some of them, so as vaguely as it all sounds. That's exactly how it feels to me.
An interesting walk lies ahead. I hope to return to this moment a year from now and understand the turn of the stairs I walked better somehow.
I should start packing now. The seat reservation I have been watching for several days now is about to slowly but surely evaporate.
Later this afternoon I will fall face first onto a freshly wrapped cushion in Brooklyn. And home will finally embrace me again. Nine flights in a month have the ability to crush anyone.
Perhaps a little bit more sleep will help. Unless I am actually sleeping now. And it is a real possibility at this point; in this soup called time.
"Nine flights in a month have the ability to crush anyone."
I couldn't agree more. In my previous job I was constantly jet setting and that life gets old very quick!