Irritable & Sleepy

I hate travelling. It's not so much the actual journey (although that can be its own special hell), but what I call the "settling-in" period - the first day or two that I'm in a new place. During that time, I hit peak irritability. Everything is annoying, and I'm literally sleepy.

Me and my donkey, on a boat.

There are always, it seems, hiccups to a new place. When I stayed in Cambridge recently, they had relegated the washing machine to a strange outside shed, like it was being punished. I felt bad for the washing machine. It deserved to be in the house. It was over the course of my time there that I realised it was oddly challenging to keep my washing and drying to the daylight hours so that I didn't have to awkwardly peel clothes out of the machine by torchlight, praying I wouldn't drop any socks on the mildewy floor, or the wet ground. It was not a joyful experience.

My drawing of the tragic situation.

Mostly, though, the house was nice. I liked its desk, I liked its small dishwasher (not having to do my own dishes is a treat that is always appreciated), and I liked its TV with Netflix left logged in. Very nice. It did have a horribly uncomfortable couch, but I simply sat elsewhere whenever possible.

Beautiful Cambridge.

Perhaps I have lost my carefree spirit or something, but I really have to take a day or two to just be annoyed whenever I arrive somewhere. I accept that I am, on these first days, a hater. And nothing can prevent it. I just have to let that evil ghost within me loose into the world. And then I'm fine. I accept the foibles of a location, the glistening downsides, and I get over it.

It says a lot about the enduring comfort of familiarity. If something sucks at home, I might just be used to it. On the other hand, perhaps every inch of the world just needs to be more perfect. 

Isn't that right, Mr. Super Mario?

 
At times like this, the only thing left to do is to enjoy some Japanese punk music.