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When I'm miserable I can wax poetic about how gut wrenchingly awful I'm feeling. But when I'm happy I seem to just say, "today was awesome" and post a bunch of photos with no explanation. So maybe I should strive to stay miserable so I will finally finish that novel I keep saying I'm writing. Or maybe I can just stay happy and learn to write better. I spent a day wandering Sevilla with no intention of going for as long as I did. But I got lost. It's inevitable for me. It also seems inevitable that when I get that lost...

It's come time for a new rule to be put into place: no hooking up with anyone who didn't see at least some of the 1980s. I think that's fair. Don't you? Some of my friends seem to think I need to have this "I'm on vacation and am going to sleep with everyone" attitude. And it's true that when abroad I do tend to be freer with things than I would be at home. But first off, I'm not really on vacation. And second off, there are things that just seem too weird. Like kissing someone who was born after...

My third day in Sevilla I woke up still coughing and with a nose still so stuffed up it was hard to breathe. But I couldn't go three whole days in Spain without leaving my hostel. So on my third and fourth days I forced myself out to wander about and explore. And I went to Alcazar. And I went on a walking tour of the city. And I went to the bullfighting museum. And I stopped at the hostel bar for some free sangria. [gallery type="rectangular" link="none" size="full" ids="55866,55867"]...

I hardly left my hostel my first two days in Sevilla, Spain. I'd been starting to feel sick in Paris and my last night there was restless. I hardly slept and ended up waking up far too early in the morning to pack my bags and puke. In a fit of just wanting to get places as soon as humanly possible I spent entirely too much money taking taxis to and from the airports. As I've said, I'm not very good at being a budget backpacker. If something helps get my sick self to a bed that much faster, I jump....

I love Paris in the spring time. I love Paris in the fall. I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles. I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles. - Cole Porter   Paris might not have been the escape I was hoping for: my back went out three days in a row and my last two days in the city I spent with a stuffed nose and wicked sore throat and probably a fever and, on my last night, I hardly slept due to weird dreams (the kind I tend to get when I'm sick) and then woke up...