Five hours of New York jet lag should have disappeared by Tuesday. The ever-circling wolves of disrupted circadian rhythm have tricked me longer than usual.
Damien's theory of jet lag is correct: the mortal soul stays leagues behind, being reeled in on some ghostly cord along the vanished wake of the plane that brought me here. Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage.
Return from Mirror-world. The plugs on appliances are again reassuringly large, steadfast and triple-pronged, instead of for a species of current than can barely make it through the wiring without a brown out.
Cars are no longer reversed, left to right, inside; telephone handsets again have a sensible weight and balance and don't look as it they were designed in 1963.
Click Powerbook. Delete spam. Sip the tea made from filtered water. Watch the madly early gray light become more like day.
No comments:
Post a Comment