January 5, 2015

Back home.

I have lost track of what time it is, right now, right here.

I could not sleep last night. Perhaps it was my anticipation for coming home after a long trip away, or perhaps it was my nervousness of not waking up on time (5am) for my flight. Perhaps it was this incessant cough that doesn’t seem to want to go away and gets worse when I lay my head down on a pillow at night. Perhaps it was a sense of wariness, a small feeling that I am coming home a different person than I was when I left.

We are all different, every day; our daily experiences change us. It is still possible to know this and still be wary.

I could not sleep on the airplane. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if I slept on the flight, I would mess up my sleep schedule for the rest of the week, or perhaps it was knowing that I would wake up with a pain in my upper back and neck, like I often do. Perhaps it was the lack of air on the plane that made me slightly short of breath and made me cough more than I hoped I would, much to the dismay of my fellow passengers.

The lack of sleep and the slight time change — three hours isn’t usually enough to unsettle me, but it feels long this evening — has got me all discombobulated. I am tired, but yet feel wrong for wanting to sleep while the sun is still up.

I have lost track of what time it is, right now, right here. Perhaps it doesn’t matter; I am comforted in knowing that I am back home.