I slept till 2pm today. The hacking girls I slept near in the Heathrow airport have clearly infected me and now I’m known in my hostel as the old-lady-who-blows-her-nose-all-the-time.
Also, my backpack weights 1,000 pounds. Seriously, it’s so heavy. It’s fine once it’s on, but I can’t pick it up off the ground. Now I’m also the old-lady-who-can’t-pick-up-her-suitcase. Awesome.
Things I’ve done since I’ve been here:
Walked past a million shops where you can buy a dildo.
Ate a breakfast that included a fish, a lemon, and a raisin. AND I ACTUALLY F*CKING ATE IT, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? (It was a little good.)
Sat in my hostel’s garden, which was also sat in my seventy million 22-year-olds getting high or about to get high or talking about getting high.
Got a slight second-hand-high.
Went into a secret church on the 3rd floor of an old house.
Battled a grumpy bird for my food.
Got convinced by a very sweet and coercive volunteer to get HIV tested, even though I just had my annual (I’m good). Waited in line for a bit and then bailed when the girl wasn’t looking. Felt inexplicably bad about it.
Drank coffee without sugar. Took a moody selfie to prove it.
Popped into a pop-up art gallery. This thing took up the whole wall and I wanted to steal the sh*t out of it. So good.
Blew my nose A LOT – from the sick, not the sad. And also a little from the sad.
Walked back through the city in the dark, and didn’t feel even a little unsafe (that was for you, Mom).
Found out my Dad’s test results were not so good, and sat in the lobby of my hostel chatting with my sister (no wifi in the rooms). Got all weepy and snotty and was consoled by at least 8 separate Irish/Australian/British/Mauritian guys who were very nice and not creepy at all (Mom, I did not make out with any of them, nor did I get roofied).
Went to sleep at 4am, exhausted, snotty and coughy. Pretty sure my roommates hated me.
(Day 2) Checked out of my hostel and walked a thousand miles with my thousand pound bag to my new hostel. Took a quick nap along the way in a big-ass park. The weather here is sick.
Things that are nowhere to be seen in Amsterdam:
I could easily live here. It’s like a prettier, happier New York – minus the poop smells and the homeless people. I would live on this houseboat:
And my life would be aaaaaaallright.
Alright, time to find a drugstore. I’m out of tissues and I need some snot pills.
Peace out, homies.