Over the course of the next few weeks, I’ll be posting a tastefully-edited version of the journal I kept during the time I spent in Iceland. You can find all the entries and more on the “Iceland Transcribed” page.
I slept for almost fourteen hours, a feat even for me.
Today is cold and overcast, so I may stay in for the most part. I need to do laundry, and finances, and plan… Namely: would it be cheaper to rent a car and camp than to stay in hostels?
‘Straya left at about 7:30 last night… I hope she made it to Germany okay.
I freaking love the free food section in this hostel. I breakfasted on an egg with sauce and cheese, toast, tea, and a plum. The only things of mine were the tea and toast. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for leftover food.
I happened upon a copy of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, so maybe I’ll sequester myself in a cafe today. But first, a shower. Then laundry. And finances.
In bank: $1,377
Food at $20/day: $330
Bills at home: $221
Doing better than i thought. If I hit the Salvation Army I should be able to find a reasonably priced Icelandic sweater, because I’m not paying over $100 for a sweater, hand-knitted or not.
That also gives me enough to bus around to the hikes, and I can hitch back to the city. I only have fifteen more days, so I’ve gotta get on those hikes.
I’ve done so much and yet I feel like I haven’t done anything.
I dreamed of my ex last night. The details are blurry, but I remember anger, and impatience, although who it belonged to I don’t recall.
I don’t know why I fell asleep thinking of him, preparing myself for if his stalking happened anywhere other than online. I don’t know why I steeled myself against eyes and words I haven’t seen or heard in years, or why my hand still shakes just thinking of him. [Traveler’s note: that’s a lie. I do know why. It for the same reason my hands are shaking just typing this up.]
Maybe it’s because of the relationship I’d like to pursue when I get home, and how I don’t want to put that person in harm’s way just by being with me.
Not that I think Psycho Ex would actually go out of his way to hurt this person, but I’m sure, given the chance, he wouldn’t hold back.
Is it the PTSD that’s causing me to go over every possible scenario, or is my psyche just that doggedly intent on breaking itself over and over again?
When i get home, i want to buy a small, potted tree. Like a magnolia or dogwood tree, something deciduous that flowers. I want to have a little table next to it with pens and paper scraps and strings. I want to write wishes on the paper and tie them to the tree, and anyone who visits may write their wishes as well. When I have a place of my own, I want to plant the tree and watch it grow, and be buried beneath it when I die…
I don’t know where the inspiration for that came from. My brain is a gloriously terrible place to be, sometimes.
Everything is gonna be okay.
You are loved.
Okay. I’m okay.
I’m at The Laundromat Cafe, having just finished a small pot of tea and a croissant. The energy here is lively, although the lighting in my corner is a little dim.
Maybe I’ll try to find Einar Jonsson garden/museum after this.
And maybe I’ll hug the next person who shows me any kindness.
It looks like buses regularly go out to Selfoss, and two go to Skogar. I’m certain I can hitch the rest of the time if I need to.
Oh good lord, I’ve been at this cafe for nearly two hours.
This day had a lot going on, so for convenience’s sake, I’m breaking this one up into two parts. Part two will be up first thing tomorrow morning!