Inbetween
I think I have a thing for hotels and writing.
I've done this before in hotel rooms abroad - sitting in a bath towel, staring at a picture on the wall and thinking.
Or maybe it's just the beer. Shouldn't have one, or should've had more than one, because this slightly tipsy inbetween thing now just makes me unnecessarily philosophical and sad. Nights in hotels are always freeing and lonely - but in a good way.
Germany, surprisingly, doesn't feel foreign. It's either me getting too used to going places or some kind of a family thing (I like to think that but I know it's not really true). But one thing for sure - I must learn German, it's my new resolution. Or something.
Today realized that I've almost restored my lost faith in humanity - I begin to connect and actually like people and not feel suffocated in their presence, whoever they are. Hope it lasts. By the way, met a guy from Latvia today who looks like Sheldon, and it somehow helps.
Right, anyway. It's quarter past very late in Minsk, quarter past not-that-late-but-I've-got-a-very-early-morning in Frankfurt, so I should probably pretend to go to sleep right now.
Could've written more - and I want to, but it's not a good idea. I think I'll just stare a bit more - you can too, if you've got nothing better to do, it's actually a very nice picture
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