Still not ready to talk about the trip in any kind of detail. What I can say is that I fell in love at least three times, in at least three different ways. Much needed camaraderie with good, good souls. Two hours after I returned to my apartment, after I had unpacked, put the laundry in to wash, it was like my body finally realized it's been overloaded. Spent the night with my head in the toilet, until 2 am. But all I could do was laugh. How could two weeks like that exist without a physical reaction?
Spoke to my mother briefly today, and as I rattled on about the last two weeks, and how happy I am to be back in the ROK as well, what a good night we had last night (despite Mags re-enacting my Friday night toilet kinship at the bar), she interrupted to say she couldn't believe how happy I sounded. Said it's been ages, maybe never, since she's heard my voice sound like this. What could I say? I am happy.
There's a very sweet boy around suddenly. It's too soon to call it anything at all, but a friend wouldn't be a bad start. I'm glad I called the urge to drunkenly pull what it was last night and left it at that. Said he'd fancy the bar stool if I wasn't standing in front of him. "Wha? That? I hate that bar stool. Can't stand the sight of it. But I really enjoy your company. And your face. And you smell lovely." All the same, my dear, you are pissed. And you seem really nice, and I don't want to let things go that way this time.
A short text from the cab to say if he still liked my face in the morning to give me a call. And he did call. Nervous and apologizing for being so drunk, said he woke up with his shoes beside him in bed. "I don't want you to think that I'm like that. I'm not like that. Just got a bit carried away last night..." Told him not to worry, to take a good rest, and as I was saying goodbye, he said goodbye and then cut me off, with just: "Sorry. Erm. But. If you're doing anything... anytime... you er... you could call me." After just having given my lovely Iva a long drunken lecture on the Viennese metro about how we need to leave the safe and comfortable (for us) bad boys alone for a while, and take (what is for us) a risk with one or two nice ones.... well. I don't know. Maybe it's time to give something real a chance for once, instead of the incessant dabbling around in total nonsense. We'll see.
Now, a film before an early night to bed. The madness begins again in the morning. No idea what I'm walking into this week, but life hasn't been letting me down lately.
Reflection in one of Laurent Benaim's images at Musee de L'erotisme in Paris.