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The reasons I am back home already could be described as many and various.
But, you know, they boil down to me not dealing well with not being able to sleep in temperatures half again as hot as what is normally considered 'hot' around here.
So after about six hours of sleep in eighty hours, I took a decision of dubious rationality and headed for the airport on the morning of the third day. I'm not sure, and never will be, if that was the right decision to make, or even a good one. I am, however, fairly well convinced that it was the only decision I was at that point capable of making.
(I have no idea what this means for my putative career. I suspect I need to either stay out of practical archaeology - which means going into something like papyriology or purely non-field based analysis - or find an interest in Roman Britain or northern Europe, where the conditions are cooler and damper. Le sigh. This will require... some thought, and going to ask people for advice, which I hate doing.)
I really don't do well when I can't sleep well. Seriously.
It took me the better part of five hundred euros, a day and a night to get back to Ireland. I suspect I did it arsewise, going Heraklion-Athens-Heathrow-Dublin, when if I'd waited another day I could have gone Heraklion-Athens-Dublin. But. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, I think.
Why, you might ask, has it taken me till Saturday to log on to the internets, if I got home Wednesday morning?
Very simple. I've been sleeping, waking long enough to eat, watch a little television, and go back to sleep, for most of the last three days. And I'm still tired. Crazy, huh?
But I'm going back to Crete for the pre-arranged two-week holiday with the parent at the end of August. Because I can't let the heat beat me. Not like that.
But, you know, they boil down to me not dealing well with not being able to sleep in temperatures half again as hot as what is normally considered 'hot' around here.
So after about six hours of sleep in eighty hours, I took a decision of dubious rationality and headed for the airport on the morning of the third day. I'm not sure, and never will be, if that was the right decision to make, or even a good one. I am, however, fairly well convinced that it was the only decision I was at that point capable of making.
(I have no idea what this means for my putative career. I suspect I need to either stay out of practical archaeology - which means going into something like papyriology or purely non-field based analysis - or find an interest in Roman Britain or northern Europe, where the conditions are cooler and damper. Le sigh. This will require... some thought, and going to ask people for advice, which I hate doing.)
I really don't do well when I can't sleep well. Seriously.
It took me the better part of five hundred euros, a day and a night to get back to Ireland. I suspect I did it arsewise, going Heraklion-Athens-Heathrow-Dublin, when if I'd waited another day I could have gone Heraklion-Athens-Dublin. But. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, I think.
Why, you might ask, has it taken me till Saturday to log on to the internets, if I got home Wednesday morning?
Very simple. I've been sleeping, waking long enough to eat, watch a little television, and go back to sleep, for most of the last three days. And I'm still tired. Crazy, huh?
But I'm going back to Crete for the pre-arranged two-week holiday with the parent at the end of August. Because I can't let the heat beat me. Not like that.
