Bushwhacked by Morpheus

Those of you who know me know well know that I've had a sleeping problem for much of my life. Call it light sleeping, call it hyperactivity, call it snappage-in-slo-mo, but it is unusual for me to sleep more than five hours a night solo. After scoring a room in the Hotel Karavella on the outskirts of Riga (the longest 2 kilometers on the face of the earth), I laid down for a 2 hour nap and woke up 15 hours later, with MTV Russia blaring on the 9" sepiatone TV set. I knew that I did not pack very well this time, but who woulda thought I would have forgotten my drool bucket? The less said about how I looked pre-shower the better.

I waited around a couple of hours for the free breakfast at 7:30 am, ate some of the best watermelon I've ever had (and I've had some award-winning melon right out of my grandpappy's farm in Missouri) and slowly stirred my lifesaving Metrix extreme chocolate protein powder into my chilled water. This mix came from the very pouch that exploded in my bag, giving all my clothes a chalky, chocolatey residue. Good times. "What's that cologne you're wearing?" "Met-RX, made in the good ole U.S.A."

Trying to shake off my extremely disturbing dream about how one of my pchem students discovered the truth about my (accidental) killing of a middle school classmate, I ventured out to get my visa to Russia. Hopefully I'll have it in my shaky, vitamin-deprived hands by the end of the day tomorrow. Then its either to Lithuania or Belarus, all depending on what Julija, the latvian goddess of visas, can do for me.