Dirndl Dykes

This is from Tuesday 20th:

Austrian dykes are hot. And one in particular was very yummy to lock lips with last night. And no, not those lips (keep it clean- what do you think I am?). Big night, much flirting and drinking bier and kissing and a vague recollection of something about The Macarena, two girls and a pole. Woke up with possibly the worst hangover I have had in a long time, the whole gut-churning toilet-loving can’t eat can barely drink truly poisoned and toxic type of deal. Vile, simply vile. Not made better by the fact my alarm did not go off and so I was half an hour late to the conference. Mercifully I was not presenting until the afternoon, so had time to get it together enough to hold the paper still whilst I read it and deliver a kind of fumbling yet entertaining paper (my usual style even when not with hangover head). People liked it, and seemed genuinely interested, and the conference is full of fascinating and friendly folk and the organisers are not the tossers one would expect from our email exchanges and there have been papers on Turkish hammans and Jewish menstrual rituals and the Spartacus gay travel guide and representations of angels and eunuchs and in Byzantine art and… good nerdy fun all round, with some rather trashy peoples.

Haven’t been much inclined to go out at night, which I think for the first part was due to being knackered and then the fact that it is freezing and the days are short doesn’t help with motivation or energy levels and my light hours have been pretty much running about so its nice to just flop out in the hostel and chat with my room-mates and other randoms. I am often thinking that I am not doing enough, and forget that most people, myself very much included, need down time to process and recharge and contemplate and chill. Thinking tomorrow night I might hit the queer bar again, though possibly not drinking this time, or at least not as much. Have a meeting with someone in Vienna on Thursday, and would most certainly be best to not turn up mangled. Two times in a week is at least one time too much! I think some of not wanting to go out is about being on my own too, and even though I often travel solo it and mostly quite enjoy it can get a bit ‘hmm, here I am at the café with my book and nobody to talk to’ sometimes, and the social and mental energy required to negotiate strangers and language barriers and landscapes can make it seem very tempting to stay in the familiar surrounds of one’s accommodation where the menu is in your native language and you don’t have to ask where the bathroom is.

Being in Austria is odd, as quite obviously it is very similar to Germany, and it all reminds me of how much I still sometimes miss being with SK. Yes, it was horrendous a lot of the time, and no, I do not think that even if I wanted it there would be any way it could work as a ‘thing’ with her, and yes I am still trying to patch my ego back together but… but….but the Wurst und the Knudels und the Bier und the Schnee remind me of her cooking and her bedrunkeness and staying at her parents’ place running through the snowy forest laughing… Its hard to remember it all, still.