Transatlanticism

All the lonely people.

I'm half-asleep, and still hammering at the keyboard. No big surprise there, really.

I never realise how wonderful a place like home is, unless I've been someplace really crappy that made me want to curl up and cry. And the last two days have been hell. A train journey that was originally meant to be a nauseating two nights dragged through another nine hours, what with all Maoists and their mild explosives. And now I know, more than ever, that there is no place like home.

I have been waiting for a conversation. And it is just not working out the way I want the conversation to be. Which is truly frustrating, because this means that I won't get to hear what I want to hear, and that is just a little bit too maddening.

I'm becoming incoherent, and it's minutes before my grammar disintegrates. I shall log off now, and leave you all alone.

Listening to : Owner of a Lonely Heart, Yes.