Five of Coca

Nothing felt right today.

I woke up cold. My stomach was bothering me. The room I had booked looked nothing like the photographs, and when I went downstairs hoping to find breakfast, there wasn't anything I could eat. I walked several blocks looking for somewhere else and realized halfway there that I'd left my wallet behind. Then it started raining.

None of these things would have mattered much on their own. I've had harder days than this. But somehow, stacked together, they made me feel completely unmoored. I was tired, hungry, uncomfortable, far from home, and suddenly very aware that almost everything familiar to me was thousands of miles away.

Eventually, after going back to retrieve my wallet, I found a little café and ordered a nice Earl Grey tea with lemon and something warm to eat. I sat by the window, both hands wrapped around the cup, and watched the rain run down the glass. For the first time on this trip, I didn't want an adventure. I wanted my bed. I wanted my dog. I wanted my kitchen and my favorite mug and the grocery store where I know exactly which aisle has what I need. I wanted everything that normally makes up the ordinary physical structure of my life.

It's strange how invisible those things are until they're gone.