The limbo of sickness and travel

For the second time on this magical journey I have succumbed to illness, this one more ferocious than the last. Four days were wasted laying on the couch looking whistfully out the window, wishing I could be well and wandering my beloved city. I leave for Turkey tomorrow so there was no way another day would be lost on lung chunks, and queez. In broken english I managed to negotiate with the apotheke for some miracle nasal spray that makes me feel half alive again, but is probably killing me a little too. No more than all the cigarettes I've smoked over my lifetime I suppose. Anyhow, I managed some good park sitting and solo wandering today. I went to my favorite fountain, the neptune fountain I think, and did some drawings. It was the magic hour and the light was golden and shinning off the domes of the churches and I felt young and in love. My drawings no matter of what, always end up looking like my drawings. These beautiful bronze women sitting around the fountain are reduced to my big handed googley eyed freaks. I guess thats what you call style. Im looking forward to Turkey, but am secretly wishing I could skip it and have another solid two weeks here. Secretly Im only going for the food, the lamb to be more specific. So officially the trip is half over. I feel like a cheap rubber ball, bounced too hard on the ground. I've reached the apex of my magical ascent and now its a swift downward trajectory, greeted by the reality of cold cement. I don't want to go home. This coming from the asshole who cried all the way to the airport that she didn't want to leave. Time changes when you're traveling, slows down. If I kept moving forever maybe I would never die.