Jet lag is a bear.
Coming east is much harder for me than going west. My mornings this week looked like this:
Get out of bed. Comb my hair. Go back to bed.
Get out of bed. Wash my face. Go back to bed.
Get out of bed and make coffee.
Wrap myself in my furry red blanket to drink coffee and slowly let the morning seep into my limbs.
There’s this deep, unsettled ball in my stomach that hates getting up at my inner clock’s 3:00 am. And when I walk to school, I wish for good old Irish wellies that keep the water from the toes because the snow is melting into small lakes and my boots aren’t water-proof.
But that’s all I can complain about these days, so that’s precious little hardship.
My two-month sojourn in the US showed me how rich and good and beautiful life is at the same time that it’s yucky and hurtful and imperfect for everyone. I met lots of people. Good people. Relatives and deep friends. They laughed and cried with me, poured love and grace on me, and sent me away feeling rich and refreshed beyond words.
Now I walk Polish streets and hear Polish conversations and teach English to Polish students. It’s another world in many ways except that people are people, and I find love and beauty and whimsy in them.
And maybe tomorrow morning won’t be quite as grim.