A bleary good morning from Dublin.
Made some pretty awesome new friends last night, and threw myself in the downtown Dublin culture. With gusto. The things that can happen when your brother buys a DJ a shot of tequila! 15k steps, most of which were on the dance floor.
We kicked this holiday into full gear, yes we did.
Going north today to explore the little seaside town of Howth.
Do you know, I can remember when aircraft had ashtrays. How strange that seems to me now—those days of no security lineups, generous pours of booze, and real knives, forks, and china. The seats were spacious and reclined deeply, with enough room to cross your legs without jabbing the sleeping person beside you. The plane seemed less like a sealed machine hurtling through the sky than a room carried gently from one place to another.
Now I am suspended between those places, and between one day and the next. It is just past midnight at home and 3 a.m. in Toronto. In Dublin, the day is already beginning. A short while ago, the sun rose and poured through the windows, lighting the cabin while my body remained fixed in the dark hours behind me. Around me, passengers have begun to stir and grow chatty, speaking into this strange overlap of night and morning as though we have all agreed to forget what time it is.
My body seems to have lost its place as well. I am aching to stretch my legs and find a pillow, but I no longer know whether I am tired because it is midnight, 3 a.m., or morning—or simply because I have been travelling through all three.
Almost three hours to go.
