On Wednesday, I worked, and took it easy with a few pintxos and glasses of rioja at the iruna, just across the park.
Feeling better than I had all week, I woke kind of early on Thursday, and set about packing up to return home. Work was rewarding, as usual, particularly in a few quiet moments shared with revered artworks. Lunch at a nearby vegetarian was a modest, simple, and stabilizing affair. Being outside and crossing the streets reminded us that the wind had turned cooler. As work wound down, there was talk of having beers, which led to 5 or so with the handlers, and other museum folks. Finally beers led to dinner in the Casco Viejo, which led to wine, which led to dancing, which led to everyone being silly and making a fool of themselves…
I hardly slept that night—not really at all—before packing my suitcase for the last time, gathering my belongings, and riding quickly through a foggy pre-dawn morning to the Bilbao airport. Waiting for the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt was painful. My head was beginning to pound from alcohol, sleeplessness, and sinus pressure! Woah was me. I was hurting. The flight to Frankfurt hurt, as did walking long distances through the Frankfurt airport in search of my connecting gate. Fat German men rode bicycles through the airport terminal. I got invasively searched, and made it to my gate with plenty of time to spare.
The flight from Frankfurt got better with time…the pain in my head and sinuses seemed to abate as I caught up on sleep—albeit in 20-30 minute spurts—drank water, and ate more and more food throughout the day. After what seems an interminable trip, during which I watched Big Lebowski nearly in its entirety (again), I arrived at Dulles, and within 30 min, was riding in a taxi cab bound for Lynnhurst.
Once home, I struggled to stay awake until Sandy arrived at 5:30…I had to walk around, shower, etc to stay conscious. We had Vace pizza, and by 7:30, I was asleep on the couch…zzz.
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