Friday, March 16, 2018

Station Tulips

Police stations here have the hours of a bank. Outstanding. I showered, dried my hair and immediately went, and they were closed at 1. I don't want to go back there. Monday is a regional holiday in Valencia, but I'm not taking my chances. Damn it, Diary. I was at this station waiting like a retard for a good 30 minutes today. I saw my reflection in the train window and I could barely handle how stupid I looked. I rested my eyes and when I opened them I had a bad feeling and I was past Sants. So I had to get back. I could not figure out what direction the trains were going, cause there were some that came one way and went away the way they came. So those must have this station as the final destination. Unlike others. I didn't know shit. I just know I needed board one that's heading downtown and you can bet any train would stop at P.C. I was wrong in the betting game. After standing there like a retard for 30 minutes I went on the other side of the tracks, and it turned out there were 14 tracks, what the fuck. But I remained on the platform right across where I originally stood and I got back.

The point wasn't to tell you what happened in a clear manner, the point is to tell you what a fool I am. I was out for 4 hours today, it felt like a century. I had to buy 10 tulips on my way home to appease myself. When something like this happens- it happens more often than it should, which is never- I am always filled with doubt. I doubt how can someone like me even survive. Like what kind of person I would be if I should live in the wild. That' a big argument I keep coming back to. You see all these people out here building doomsday bunkers? I wouldn't even consider outlive anyone if that happens. Like what's the point. Where is the survival instinct. I don't have it.

I honestly don't want to go back there. The thing is, Barca is a small city. I am quite confined to this small city. This small, populous, prosperous area. I won't even go as far as Sants. If I stop seeing wonderful architectures and start seeing normal houses, I'm in pain. That's who I am. The best of Barca is really only concentrated in a small area, and now it's my comfort zone. I honestly wouldn't go anywhere else. It's my home now. Seeing Psg.G felt like I was finally home. If I'm a New Yorker I must be the kind you hear about all the time, you know, the kind who wouldn't leave one block just because.

I know I'm open-minded. I know this is normal. So I don't need to explain to you but I just want to know. At this point, "exploration" only makes sense if I have a plan. Like I need to be there. Everything is need-based. I mean, I had no idea wasting 30 minutes at a train station would be so mentally straining. I just.

​Do you feel me?

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