Notes from the Road

Nothing finer than having the shakes while you're traveling. That woman on the plane who would usually engage me in all sorts of conversation about her children's successes left me quite alone to sleep. And the guy at the hotel looked at me like I was Keith Moon as he handed me my door card. And everybody has a remedy - some people like a particular brand of medicine, other people like exotic mixes of tea (and/or tea-like mixtures).

I'd try it all if it'd mean my body temperature would stay the same for 20 minutes at a time. I'm having more hot and cold flashes than the balcony at a Tom Jones concert. It was almost bad enough that I thought about calling this trip off, which would have been all sorts of inconvenient.

This city's a mishmash of accents. In the elevator up, there was a gentleman with a great Irish brogue. When I was little, I unconsciously picked up accents which led to all manner of mortification, particularly for my parents who decided it might not be the best idea to take me to Chinese restaurants. Evidently, it also happens when I'm sick, as I found myself - also mortified (though also a little pleased as it was a gorgeous sound - picking up his accent and wishing him a good evening.

For some reason, the view out the window reminds me a little of Monterrey, Mexico which can only mean I'm delirious. I think it's that the lights of the city are a little muted by the curtains, and somehow that translates into a fevered interpretation of hills where there's only water. But I'll take it - I had good dreams in Monterrey (and good dreams of Monterrey). And I could use a little rest tonight.