Daniela is such a gift: beautiful, brilliant, talented, but above all of that is her heart of gold. Tomorrow is her 28th birthday, so the timing of my visit was seredipitously excellent. It fed my soul to talk and laugh about life, love, and loss. She is a kindred spirit.
I’m writing mostly just to pass the time. The stop and go motion of the train is frustrating to me, and an attempt to sleep will be inevitably futile because of the jerkiness, the uncomfortable seating, and the sporadic but frequent station announcements over the public address system.
Sounds like the train staff are also a bit peevish about our slowed pace (track construction, they announce). No worries, though; we’ll make it one of these days. I imagine I’ll fairly trudge back to my room at Santa Clara-- the idea of walking doesn’t sound at all appealing right now.
Perhaps I’ll resort to solitaire (of the Burning Monkey variety, of course). I know I’ve reached the end of my reading attention span, and I can feel my writing ebbing as well.