Woke up to a photo on my phone that made me double over in bed with actual laughter (which I won't post here, given that the sender may not appreciate it and is a reader [I'd definitely get caught]), a text from Smalltown calling me an "FECKIN ILLUSIVE TEXAN", and one from JH Unni at 2:53 am asking what I was doing.
It's hard when life changes gears on you sometimes. Other people you were keeping pace with can suddenly fly off into the distance.
It's been three weeks since alcohol last passed these lips. To anyone in any other part of the world, that will sound inconsequential, but anyone inside the ROK will know what a departure from the norm that would be. I go to bed around 11 or 12, wake up at 5 or 6. While everyone else (it seems) in this damned country is stumbling home to bed, I'm showering and dressing for the day, having my first cup of coffee.
I blame the sun. And the fucking roosters.
It has to be said, though -- Seoul is a different place in the morning. A better place, if you ask me. Sometimes, before 11 am on a sunny Saturday or Sunday, it can almost even remind me of New York. In a good way. Plus, the buses and trains aren't yet crowded. Nothing is, really, which is lovely when even out here in the comparative sticks I can end up drowning in a mob on the sidewalk on the average afternoon.
So, this morning, already showered and dressed -- having completed three small cups of coffee, the last 40 pages of a book and thirty minutes of a movie -- I'm apologizing for absences, trying not to make excuses, and preparing to head into the city to find a lighter spring jacket and maybe some giant-sized shoes for my American feet -- a small birthday present for myself.