Amsterdam

My body took a stand against all of my self-abuse by turning off my alarm clock in its subconscious. If I had brushed my teeth, I would have missed my flight. For once, an excuse. By some small miracle (an Easter miracle perchance? Brigette ponders) I woke up in a panic five minutes after we had agreed to meet at the station and RAN there, this is like an entire fucking MILE, of RUNNING, collapsing into the last pre-departure Navette with four minutes left to catch my breath. So basically, fate led me to Amsterdam.
We flew Ryanair into Eindhoven airport, got an early start on self-medication. Ryanair was invented for middle-aged men who might own season passes to 6 Flags Great Adventure. The sharp human odors, constant advertisement of shit I don’t want, and people gasping and cheering during our turbulent landing took me straight back to my angsty summers in New Jersey. Terrifying.
We got into the city around noon. Once there, it started snowing straight away, and only let up when I walked inside or when it decided to hail for the remainder of the weekend. Underdressed and overfed, somehow, in the face of adversity, we had a great, biblical even, weekend.
We stayed with a stranger, she didn’t murder us, and we ate constantly.
Mini-horse