Oh, it is lovely to be back.
When I ‘phoned my parents to tell them I had arrived, I could hardly believe I had been at my childhood home, six thousand miles away, just the day before. The only evidence of this strange time travel was my dizziness and the fact that Monday was only a few hours long.
The bit of Monday I did have was a slither of the late afternoon and evening before Daughter disappeared for a sleepover (life goes on even when mum returns from two weeks away.) I caught them up by telling tales from Kent and they told me bits from Bangkok life and then Husband, Son and I watched Slumdog Millionaire. I stayed awake!
Life really began again on Tuesday. Only a couple of hours after getting up, I lay down on my bed ‘to read’ and had to sleep again: horizontal is a very dangerous position to be in after time travel. (Oh my bed! My pillow, oh they are divine and the shower, my mugs…) Having put myself back on UK time with my nap, Daughter and I went shopping and gossiping, past her bedtime… Eek (The shops stay open ‘til 10pm here.)
I do wonder if this culture hopping/time travelling will ever feel normal. Or perhaps it’s me? Am I making it worse by being conscious of it each time I do it in order to keep it alive for my writing?
Still, who cares? It might be odd, but it is lovely to be back.