Aaaaaaand I’m sick. Not sugary shots bar sick, like actually sick.
I think I’m dying.
Being sick in a hostel is the worst because I don’t want to be a big baby drama queen, but I also don’t want to just lay here all day and have people thinking I’m a weirdo.
I’m in and out of sleep all day, as it’s the only time I’m not uncomfortable and dying. As I’m waking up I hear two guys in my room go out on the balcony for a cigarette. One asks the other “have you ever seen this one out of bed?” and I’m like NOOOOO ITS HAPPENED. IM THE WIERDO IN THE ROOM. I consider telling them the door isn’t fucking sound proof, but realize it hardly matters. I wake up and start chatting with them a bit when they come back in. Making sure to mention I AM SICK. Not just here for the white walls and metal bunk beds. By the end of our conversation I’m confident that they think I’m less of a weirdo. Bueno.
Some friends from last night send me a message inviting me out to a university event (some of them are students here, obviously), and I have soooo much FOMO but I know I can’t do it. I lay in bed and die instead.
An older German woman in my room, who I heard trying to communicate with the front desk earlier, offers me a tea. She speaks 0 English but is an absolute angel. After bringing me a chamomile tea with some honey, she offers me Advil, an apple, and makes me snort some peppermint oil which WHOA, have you ever tried that? Yikes. My sinuses will never clog again.
We don’t converse much, but we’re besties now. She gets up every few hours for a cigarette on the balcony. I work on my laptop to finish this TEFL course in the hopes of one day being employed.
It’s day 2 and I haven’t really seen Barcelona at all yet. I better feel well tomorrow or imma lose it.