My family and I are going to be in San Francisco for 8 days. I will try to record at least something every day. But I know me, and you know me, and keeping to rules set by myself is not my strong point.
This morning at 3 a.m. I woke with a start when I thought I heard someone knock on my door. I lay awake in the dark, eyes wide open, and listened intently, adrenaline pumping, for the knock to come again. It didn't, so I drifted off to sleep again when at the last moment before unconsciousness, I was certain someone had just come in to my room.
Again, my eyes flew open. This time, my imagination started running riot and I thought I heard voices speaking in my mind, harsh voices telling me things I shuddered to hear, and I twisted and turned and tried to block them out.
It was NOT a good night before flying out. I awoke at 8 the next morning, already exhausted and drained, to my father singing: "Where is your passport? Where is your passport?"
The flight was cramped and my hair was greasy. I wore my hardly-used glasses to disguise my red, tired eyes.
But then I was very glad to discover that, underneath my layers of sweaters and home-bodyness, a born traveller still lurked.
And as we descended over the Bay of San Francisco, a bubble of excitement grew. There was foggy clouds and green and brown landscapes, and once we got in the taxi and were on our way to our apartment in North Beach I couldn't stop squealing and saying over and over how excited I was to be here, and staring with wide eyes at the clapboard houses painted all different colours, and the hills and the trees and the people and the shops.
So many cool things to see, like a feast for my poor stunted mind.
D and J and I kept poking one another, though we were starving, pointing out interesting clothed people and buildings.
Once we had dropped our bags off at the apartment and dusk fell, we walked down Grant St. and stopped at Golden Boy pizza for some nourishment. We were meeting our old friends the Morrison's at 7, but the smell and the sight of the pizza in the front window was too much to resist. A six-pack of of San Francisco Steam beer and a bag of popcorn completed the dinner.
We are leaving in 20 minutes to walk to the Palace Hotel to meet up the Morrison's, and I am sure many hilarious hijinks will ensue. Part of me wants to sleep now, curled up with my copy of the Sisters Brothers, and greet the morning fresh-faced, but it is not to be. The party must go on!