Dear STILL Sleepless in Barcelona,
This has been the longest most surreal evening of my time on Earth and I’ve spent a night in jail before. Los Angeles to London to inside a wine bottle in Barcelona. Don’t get me wrong, most of my nights end up sleepless, inside a wine bottle, the only difference now is where I’m sleepless.
With less than two hours of sleep under my belt and only time and brain cells to kill, I proceed to transform my wine into a memory and my memories into skid marks inside the soiled underwear that is my brain. Part of me wants to turn the place into a scene from Trainspotting or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but I didn’t want to be ‘That Guy.’ When I’m depressed, especially over a break-up, it’s easy for me to want to make my surroundings look like how I feel inside. Not sure if that makes any sense, but it does for me. However, this moment. In this city. In this situation. I refuse. I actually clean up and organize, putting my clothes into the closet, and my toiletries into the the bathroom.
I have no clue who this guy is right now. It’s almost as if I’ve matured, but that can’t be it. I’m 32 years old. Guys don’t mature til…I have no clue when.
It’s now five o’clock in the morning and the wine fueling me earlier has waned and am now running solely on adrenaline and fear. The adrenaline will ultimately fade as well, but the fear and panic, as they always have been, will stand guard behind my eyes inside my head. That’s probably why I don’t sleep much. It really is. It doesn’t matter if I’m awake or asleep, I always have those two feelings as centurions, stoically smiting positive thoughts and self-worth like the first born of Bethlehem. (That’s how the story goes, right? I’m not really into Sci-Fi so I don’t know much about The Bible…Just kidding. We all know The Bible is considered Fantasy.)
My plan is set and my mind made up. Depending on how much things cost and how much money I have, I’m going to get a pre-paid ‘burner’ cellphone, so I can call my bank in order to reactivate my debit card. From there I’ll go to the Apple store to purchase a charger for my laptop. It’s so simple.
What could go wrong?
The only question now is what time to begin my coronation down the streets of Barcelona. What time would be best for the Catalan people to witness their foreign born son return in his signature red Vans. 7 AM?
After further thought and consideration, no stores or shops will be open until at least 10 o’clock let alone seven in the morning. Hmmm….well what the fuck do I do now?
I think this is becoming a theme.
Let you know how it works out.