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One morning considerable research
yielded no easy route possible for my return to Amsterdam, neither by
train nor plane, that would also allow me to catch my flight home out
of Bruxelles (Brussels). I called all over and ended up with piles of
scribble-covered paper noting my countless dead-ends. I resigned
myself to my fate and arranged to fly to Bruxelles to meet the flight
home. I had a final day with Lena in KØbenhavn,
including a trip to an interesting modern art museum, oddly enough named
Louisiana, out in the cold Danish countryside, then caught a plane in
the morning.
On the flight from Bruxelles
I was hit with serious remorse, "Wait! Turn around!! There are things
I didn't get to see! I still have my credit cards, I can live off those
until they cut me off!! Turn around..."
Dammit.
 Home again, home again, jiggidy
jig.
Another 8 hours of watching that goddamn computer animated plane creep
across the monitor.
I got off the plane, sad to be back in the states, sad the fairy tale
summer was at an end. But my best friends were there to greet me at the
gate, smiles and tears to see me. It was like waking up from a coma. I’d
never been gone so long, so far, or so deep.
Back at my apartment there was the pile of bills waiting, my car was
still in the shop, work was awaiting my return, etc.
I would not wake up in the monastery from this dream.
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