divine angst

The restaurant across the street from my fifth-floor hotel room plays music loud enough to sing along to as I sit here in bed. I realize it’s Saturday night, but people do sleep sometimes—hopefully I’ll be one of them soon—and the not-as-tired part of me wants to stalk downstairs and take on the manager. But my room’s AC kicks on and covers the noise and I hope it stays on long enough for me to drop off to Dreamland.

It’s been a long day, full of heat and sticky sea breezes; long ceremonies and no small amount of discussions bordering on acrimonious. I watch a daughter get annoyed by the mere fact of her father’s disagreement with her and my shoulders tighten. The only thing that relaxes me is recognizing that I can go home whenever I want. Adulthood is a great privilege.