I’m not late in posting here.
It’s 430 in the afternoon and I haven’t been drinking since 3. It all didn’t start with a Kahlua and coffee. It didn’t move on to a beer and then a Beam and coke.
The absurdity of fictitious Wednesday afternoon drinking was not brought on by the madness of the Busan Train Station this morning, the first availability of tickets for those wishing to ride the rails during Lunar New Year Holiday (February 2 thru 4 attached nicely on a natural weekend for a full five days with family and paying respect to ancestors at their graves). There weren’t the grubby, yelling lunatics that train stations seem to attract. I didn’t stand in line from 915AM until 1100 knowing my objective: February 2 one-way tickets for two on any available train. When asked to write down the date and time on a piece of paper just before reaching the head of the line, I didn’t write 2/1. I didn’t get tickets for the day before we were to travel.
I didn’t curse at myself after realizing my mistake. I didn’t berate myself for my failed attempt at a coup for this highly-sought-after travel day. I didn’t talk to myself like a crazy person in any of the world’s train stations. I didn’t call myself a fucking old moron. I didn’t have a little crisis. I didn’t tell Nic. I didn’t hear consoling words from her. She didn’t give perspective, saying a leisurely jaunt up to Seoul would be better than the madness of Lunar holiday travel and trying to make it to the airport when time was a factor (the day of our Korea departure).
I don’t worry about my non-senility. I don’t still console myself with Nic’s perspective. I don’t feel a hell of a lot better now. I don’t have to prepare dinner now.