I’m writing this in the airport in Oslo, Norway. I can’t really see the screen because my eyes keep focusing and unfocusing so if they are ani type-os, i donut care. My back hurts. My feet are sore. My stomach is mad because I’ve eaten so many plastic-wrapped, sub-par plane meals (please no more chicken and ravioli for the love of god!). My brain is begging me for more sleep, yet here I am please forcing the save poor guy to churn me out words.
36 hours ago I was in São Paulo, Brazil. Then I flew to New York, to Newark. I was there by 6am. I went home to wash the only pair of jeans I own (long story), to line my stomach with homemade chili, and to say goodbye to my girlfriend for 3 weeks. Then it was time to head to JFK for 9pm to get on a flight to Oslo, where I am now, waiting for a final flight to Stockholm.
I’ve been on 3 continents in 36 hours and I’ve just survived a second consecutive night on a plane. I was even stuck with a middle seat for the second flight.
And to top it all off, when I get to Stockholm, I’m going to go hiking and then to an all-night concert. (No, no, hahaha, no, actually I’m going to check into my hotel and lie on my bed for 7000 years.)