Home sweet home

kk 212 Ah, Irish trees

And we are home to margaritas and Mexican food on Monday and sushi tonight. There is something about one’s own bed that is very appealing. At least if you have a comfortable bed. It’s so hot here that I can hardly think. We got used to Ireland and the cool air and sweet rain. Here the air is thick and tangled.

I am sucking down waves of jet lag like the Irish drink Guinness. It feels like there is cotton in my throat at all times. I feel queasy when I walk and stand and move and think. It’s like being in a vaporous cloud that is tilting you backward all the time. (You wonder how I know what that feels like, just don’t ask, I have been in many clouds at many times, and not all of them tilted me backward.)

The dogs were delighted to see us; they seem like kids racing around, like they would go mad with joy. They wanted us to stay up all night and play with them, but by the time we arrived we’d been awake more than twenty-four hours and I felt that heavy nausea you feel when you are way past tired. You are on the other side of fatigue, in some other country where there is no dark, no light, no sky, no up or down. You collapse under the weight of it.

But then, jet lag being what it is, you keep waking and waking over and over all night, your body trying to readjust your circadian rhythms, pulling you back and forth like you’re riding a horse that moves violently.

It was good to be back in the office again today, to see all the staff working their hearts and brains out. This is the first summer that the AC hasn’t gone out in the office. Which is a good thing. Los Angeles is very hot. Boiling. Scorching. Who wouldn’t lap this up?

Published in: on July 2, 2013 at 8:27 pm  Leave a Comment  

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