I need hugs and snuggles. And sleep, more than I'm going to get tonight.
It's also possible that I need dinner but I figure I had enough food for lunch that I can do without. And I feel fat, like I have a big old ball o' chunk sitting on top of the muscle on my gut. Admittedly it keeps my clothes from falling down but I would prefer a much thinner layer of it.
And the hotel I had scoped out for Venice is full. That will be my problem to deal with later. I feel like I might want to sit in the bed and read the silly Michael Moorcock/Storm Constantine book souldier_blue lent me.