(Note: This is not a creepypasta, but an actual journal entry from my trip overseas.)
To be honest, I really don't feel like writing. I feel like going home. It's probably a mix of exhaustion, hormones, and mental illness, but I'm really not happy to be here. I started out yesterday at 2:15 pm -- mom drove me to the airport. I saw K- W- -- my old associate teacher, and the only one still living -- and tried to ignore her. She's nice, but I didn't feel like explaining my job situation. So, guess who I ended up getting sat next to on the plane to Toronto? Mind you, we ended up talking about knitting and crocheting more than anything else, so that wasn't too bad. Still, my anxiety was acting up. It really didn't get any better... only worse.
After settling on fries and a coke for dinner -- everything was so bloody expensive, as usual for an airport -- I discovered a free app to play on the airport iPads. I can't remember what it was called. I won, but couldn't redeem for some reason. Of course. So, I went to buy a couple of little bottles of ice wine and some maple syrup for Caz. I'm worried about meeting her. She seems a lot more outgoing than I am, and I don't think she's going to be terribly impressed with me.
Anyway, I boarded my flight to Dublin. Holy crap Air Canada Rouge is tight! Never again! I barely had enough room for myself, and then came this 6'5"+ guy to sit next to me. I felt sorry for him. I would have felt worse had he bothered to even make eye contact with me. He was... strange. Twitchy. Organizing and reorganizing everything around him. Odd movements. Muttering to himself. And he spent a third of the flight looking like a ghost with the blanket thrown over his head. It was all rather disconcerting, but I think he may have had trouble with flying or something.
It was a night flight, but because of the time difference, we saw dawn at at 2 am, our time. I haven't slept since the night before last, as I write this. I wish I could sleep on planes. Maybe I wouldn't have basically had a public melt down in Dublin if I had been even remotely rested.
***
I got off the plane, which was a bit late, but I figured I was okay with 1.5 hours. How wrong I was. The problem started in Timmins. They booked my luggage all the way through to Edinburgh, but didn't/wouldn't give me a boarding pass for the last leg because Aer Lingus isn't part of Star Alliance. Which is bullshit, and I tried to argue it, but got nowhere. I was told to pick up the pass in Dublin.
Got to Dublin, and a security woman told me I had to get my luggage (?!?!), go out through customs, again, pick up my ticket, check my bag again, then go through security... then I could go to my gate. I stood for nearly 20 minutes waiting for my luggage, which didn't come, obviously. Asked another security guy, and he said no -- I didn't need to get my bag. It was checked straight through. But, I nee3ded to go to Terminal 2 for Aer Lingus. I was in Terminal 1. So, I ran there to get my ticket. I get in line and ask an attendant if I could make it.
She said no.
That's when I started to panic. She sent me to customer service, who took her sweet time trying to help me, meanwhile telling me that I'd have to run, and even then it was unlikely. I'd have to schedule, and pay for, a new flight. She SLOWLY got me my pass and I RAN. Oh my god did I run. I was in tears and shaking and people around me probably thought I was nuts.
I made it at the eleventh hour. I was the last person and they were literally closing the gate. What a fucking nightmare. On no sleep. At least I met a nice lady and her daughter, from Toronto, who were also on the taxi bus to the flight. She was very friendly and got me talking and calm again. She and her daughter are spending a few days in Edinburgh, then going up to see family in Aberdeen. They're going back to Toronto the same day as I am -- if I see her, I'll have to thank her. She was obviously aware of my emotional state.
***
The last leg of the trip was happily uneventful. Took a cab to the hotel (Richmond Place Apartments), which was worth the twenty quid. The reception was friendly, and the apartment was perfect, and has a full kitchen which is great. I'm writing this part the next day only because I was too exhausted and emotional to continue yesterday. I went out after showering and resting (couldn't nap) and went to the Surgeon's Hall Museum -- I may go back.
It was incredibly interesting, if morbid. I'm sure many folks wouldn't be able to stomach it. The tools of medicine were more my speed, but the human specimens were neat. Creepy, but neat. I by-passed the diseased eyeballs. I'm blinking madly just thinking about them. I wish I could have been able/allowed to take pictures, but given that they're remains of people, I can understand why photography is strictly prohibited. One of the most fascinating sections was on the "grave robbers" Burke and Hare. They weren't really grave robbers, seeing as they murdered their victims to sell their corpses to Dr. Robert Knox. The museum had on display not only the skeleton of Burke, and his post-gallows death-mask with visible ligature marks from the rope, but also a book... bound in his skin. He was hanged after Hare turned on him in order to save his own life then, ironically enough, subjected to a public autopsy.
After the museum, I went for groceries (fitting) at Tesco and settled on dinner from Subway after being yelled at in the KFC. Weird-ass toothless girl who couldn't wait two seconds for me to make a decision. I went back to the hotel, ate, then stayed up until 10 pm (on purpose) to watch "Location, Location, Location" for the first time in years.
I then passed out promptly on the comfortable bed.
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