I'm not yet arrived. I sit here indecisive if I shall go to my beloved Mysore class or not. I tend to practice at home. Tiredness is still in my bones. I arrived at 11pm yesterday. My bf sat there already at the airport waiting for me. His flight arrived earlier. He flew via Madrid a few hours earlier than me. We took a taxi home. Buh is it cold here in comparison to Lisbon. I realized at once that I was at home again in good old Germany when I left the plane.
E wanted to go out yesterday night. As soon as we've put down our suitcases in the flat, we went out again to the bar round the corner. The Croatian man, the owner greeted us when we arrived at midnight, ready to for a drink. He was on his way to close the door, but changed his mind when we arrived.
(The longer I write the more likely it is that I'll practice at home).
We chatted with him. He has not read a lot of books in his life, he told us. What book he has read I wanted to know, beside the telephone book. I try to rememeber, but I don't know. Perhaps I was a lousy listener. I've read 4 books in the last 10 days. It makes me smile when someone is not reading. Reading is my daily bread for the mind. It seems to be possible to live without books.
I need a breakfast. I've nothing at home. One excuse after the other comes into my mind.
OK, I'll practice at home, decision made. It might not be the best one, but a relaxed one.