Tick Tock

If everything goes well I’ll be flying to Frankfurt tomorrow morning. I’ve got a ticket and I’ve been told my exit permit is lying here in Bangalore waiting for me. Yes, that’s right, I’m back in Bangalore. Yesterday I left Goa again (for the second time) and took the night bus down to Bangalore. I was looking forward to a nice night’s sleep; but unfortunately I hadn’t realised booking a bus ticket last minute might mean there are no bus tickets.

I told them I was desperate, that it was essential that I get down to Bangalore. They offered me a seat next to the bus driver, without a bed, for nearly twice the price. I had no choice; I had to take it. I got crammed into the bus driver’s carriage, along with about eight other Indian guys and not much else.

In the end I manage to fall asleep on top of some bags, with my legs folded up under me. Thank providence that I’m such a good sleeper, because at least that way I got to pass out for most of the trip from hell. My gyming is having unexpected side-benefits. Though I was sore from the unusual bodily position, I walked the kinks out pretty quickly once I’d got off the bus.

When I first reached Goa again I was worried whether I had made the right decision. I think, now that I’ve left it again, I have. For a small week four of us occupied my house and just enjoyed each other’s company; hanging out, cooking, chatting, drinking and just generally having a great week.

I also might have met somebody; but I won’t tell you anymore about that until I’ve figured it out myself (yes, I realise that those are exactly the types of things you can’t figure out, but that has never stopped me from trying before!). Her I wouldn’t have met if I wouldn’t have gone back, so that is most certainly a bonus to my bonus round.

I am very much ready to go, now. Play time is over. Reality beckons with a crooked finger.

I’ve decided that when I go to Portugal with my family I’m going to edit my weird ass poetry (I should probably think up a better name). I have about twenty of them now. I’m going to try and publish them in a bundle. Of course, in that case, twenty won’t be enough; but at least it’s a start.

It won’t make me any money either; poetry never does. Seeing as I’m completely broke, I’ll have to start pursuing some avenue of income. I hate looking for work. In fact, I hate looking for work more than I hate working.

I had all these grand plans of leaving India with some money in my pocket. My father told, right at the start, that there was no way I’d be coming home with money. I thought, ‘I’ll show him!’, but I guess he showed me.

Hopefully this trip has taught me a little more self-awareness, because it seems I could use it.