… is the 6 hour time difference. Or the 12-hour flight. Or the way the combination of the two leave one out of sorts for days on end, adjusting back to reality.
Actually, that’s not quite true. I was just fine the first day back. Or mostly. Up at “normal” times. In bed at “normal” times. Refused to nap in the middle, howevermuch my body tried to scream at me midday.
No, no. Must adjust back to this timezone again.
Well done. All good for a first-Sunday-home.
Not so good when Sunday night’s sleep proves to be a wee joke my body is having on me. A very wee joke…
In bed at 10:30 PM (Post-TURN, of course.)
(For a bit)
And then wake up a few scant hours later, in the very smallest hours of morning, with my body thinking I’ve just taken the loveliest, refreshing, early-evening nap (because it is still 6 hours behind me) and now – oh joy – let’s just be up for a while more.
Like all night more.
So that at really-6:30AM but feels-like-just-after-midnight, when my body is thinking maybe bedtime could come up pretty soon after all, I am getting ready to start a first day back that isn’t going to feel so good.
Oh, Lord have mercy. And by your grace, be my rest, for I need it.
It wasn’t all that bad, really. I mean, it was that bad, sleep-schedule-wise, but the day wasn’t nearly as loathsome as I feared and if my commute hadn’t required a 2-mile, 30-minute (ah, Traffic, how I didn’t miss you at all) diversion when I just wanted to be home already, it could almost have been a good day.
And almost a good day, on so little sleep and on a workaday Monday post-vacation? That’s actually a good day, all in all.
An actual blessing, even.
Gotta go. You can’t tell but as this posts (just after midnight), I’m already in bed. (God willing, I’m asleep, too.)