It's 3:23 am, and I am suddenly irrevocably awake.
I love jet lag.
I passed out, pretty literally, at 10 pm last night, right as I hit the "I've-been-awake-for-24-hours" mark (yeah, I know. Twenty-four hours of wakefulness isn't exactly a record for me), after a long couple of days of travel. Schiphol to Heathrow after a multi-hour flight delay (thunderstorms) to a not-very-nice hotel to Heathrow to LAX, after a multi-hour flight delay (unspecified).
I loathe LAX. However, Heathrow is an abomination among airports. I'd even choose O'Hare over it.
Though I did have rather a good time leading my own personal parade of luggage trolleys through the underground tunnels from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3. Sometimes the weirdest things amuse me the most.
As we touched down at LAX, I turned to the spouse and said, "And now the plane drives around for a half-hour looking for a parking place."
Which was exactly right, though not so bad as the BMI flight the day (or two) before that dropped us off on the runaway at Heathrow for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride to Terminal 1. Which was filled with men in flak jackets holding very large guns. Just the sort of greeting I really like.
Los Angeles was warm and fuggy, weird after cold wind and temperatures in the 40s and 50sF. I'd forgotten it was summer. We lost our good weather the last few days of the trip, though a few days ago, I actually saw the North Sea in the sunshine, brief though it was, the first time I've seen it thus.
I never knew there were so many seas in one small area and I've now been on most of them: North Sea, Norwegian Sea, Arctic Sea, Labrador Sea, and the Strait of Denmark, which is nowhere near Denmark proper, but sits between Iceland and Greenland. At the western-most point of the trip, we were within about 500 miles of the coast of Canada, which was somehow jarring, but pleasant.
There's a lot yet to assimilate, photos to download, plenty to think about. I spent a lot of time the last month thinking about the state of everything, but I also spent a lot of time sleeping. Sometimes the only time I can sleep is when I can't do anything else. I dreamed a lot, weird dreams, including dreaming vividly of an earthquake, which of course occurred two days later.
(An odd thing about news. There were days I couldn't get an Internet connection to save my life, but I knew about the earthquake within two hours of its occurence, and I knew about the Angels' acquisition of Mark Teixeira about five minutes after it happened. Of course, it was a full day before we learned about Manny Ramirez going to the Dodgers, an event which was possibly more jaw-dropping than either of those other two things. And yeah, stuff fell over and moved in the quake--we aren't that far from the epicenter--but we didn't lose anything that we know of.)
Another 18,000 miles added to the year's tally, and I am done for the foreseeable future. I am ok with this; there are about 4,657 loads of laundry I need to do, and a very large bin of mail requires sorting.
There was a phone message, too. A service with whom I sometimes contract called and asked me to update my resume. That means they probably have work for me. I find I am...resistant to the idea. Not resistant to the idea of work, of course, but I've decided it's time to look elsewhere (apple farming in Norway?).
That's another adventure.
First, however, I need a brief nap. My body may be in California, but my brain is still in London. Or Norway. Or Iceland. Or in Prince Christian Sound...
"To Market To Market" is a traditional children's rhyme. But you knew that already.