I headed to Brussels today with the temperature and sky so welcoming it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I spent much of the winter inside tending to things sometimes not worth tending to, and now I'm as busy as I can possibly be...and I have to spend it indoors.

I headed to the train station in a t-shirt (!) with my mp3 player's earplugs stuck deep into my ears. If I couldn't spend the entire day outside, I was at least going to make the most of my walks to the station and from the station.

At the station I stood patiently in line with half of the population of Antwerp. There's nothing extrorinarly about today except the fact that tomorrow is a holiday which no one seems to know what it's about. (I'm sure there are a few that know, it's just that the people I've asked don't.) The person in line stood there putting away her things when I noticed that her hands were connected to smallish arms at right angles instead of just connected. One wouldn't have been able to tell by looking at her from the line, she looked like any other Belgian off on a holiday, or perhaps work-oriented, trip on the Belgian railways. I'm always caught a bit off guard (who isn't) when I see someone that looks obviously different. I wanted to stare but quickly found myself digging around in my bag, playing with the leather bit of my new wallet, out of avoidence and respect.

On the platform I diligently searched for a pen and had I not found it, I would have asked to borrow one from a group of 4 American women who were obviously headed to Brussels as well. It's like I would have found any excuse to chat-it-up with them, all for the sake of language.

On the train, I heard something I've never heard before. In fact, I heard two things I've never heard before. One was an announcement in 3 languages (Dutch, French and English) that there were "pickpocketers on board the train" and that we should "carefully guard our personal belongings." The additional newbie, was the announcement that we had arrived in Brussels North...this time in 4 languages (the addition of Spanish.)

I headed on into school, sought out the key to the room, and busied myself with printing the first year of this journal. I had already inquired if the printer was set up and if everything was configured properly. What did I find? The macs have no Word and Appleworks butchers images and layout, and that the PC wasn't connected to the printer. 3 hours later, after much fixing and figuring out with the help of a fellow transmedian, I started printing.

To be quite frank, I still am printing.

to be continued