Hazy Summer

I’m back in the States, mostly. My subconscious hasn’t hipped to it yet, as I keep waking up in an unsure haze of where I am or what I’m doing. This is prolonged, I’m sure, by moving from jet lag to flu-like virus and the accompanying medicines that cloud the brain. AND by not yet having sufficient time in my own bed. I’m at my parents’ house since Daniel flew out the day after we arrived on business and I immediately got sick.

I keep looking for light switches in the wrong places. This isn’t a metaphor, since the British keep their light switches outside their doors. I can’t tell you how often I stumbled into a dark bathroom at night and fumbled around the door jamb futilely.

In the space between dreamland and consciousness, I’ve been confused how I was getting to the next place, since I don’t drive in the UK. Or wondering if I have time to go to that old place I love so much that I keep meaning to revisit. Or if I have time to pack before our taxi arrives.

(My kingdom for a perfect cup of tea in bed, this minute.)

Tonight I’ll be sleeping in my own bed and my family will all be under the same roof and I’ll finally get unpacked and things will start to resemble normalcy. The hazy place will eek its way back to the ether and, with any luck, the days will start getting cooler. I walked miles upon miles while I was there, the weather and the landscape and the company so welcoming. I miss that so much.

I am happy to be here, though. Home. Spending time with my parents, even though I’ve been sick. There’s no one whose company I crave more than my mom’s when I’m sick, fact. (That’s probably true for 90% of you, I’d guess.)

Onward, September, into Fall. Please be gentle with us all.





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