It’s 24 hours after I arrived home from Australia, and I should be unpacked by now, but my suitcases remain on the living room floor, their contents haphazardly surrounding them. I’ve done two loads of laundry, but the clean clothes are in another large pile on my bed, waiting patiently to be folded.
Me? I’m laying down on V’s bed, scrolling on my phone, listening to wind chimes from a neighbor’s balcony while watching how the room darkens as storm clouds take over the sky.
Phoebe lays at the foot of the bed, content (I think) that I’m home once again.
Half a month away. Traveling for work seems glamorous, and there are obviously many perks. But it can be exhausting too!
Today, I am feeling the exhaustion. Jet lag. Brain fog.
Yesterday was the longest Monday of my life. It started at 4:30pm EST Sunday, which was 6:30am Monday Sydney-time, and ended at 10pm EST Monday when I finally got to sleep. That’s a 30-hour day!
It’s raining now. Lightning is flashing. Phoebe has crawled closer to me (she’s getting hungry), and is resting her head on my slipper.
Why is unpacking and putting things away so tedious to me? Sometimes, if it’s a short trip, no jet lag, I can follow P’s example and unpack right away. But this time it’s the last thing I want to do.
Uh oh, Phoebe’s moved even closer:
I guess she wants me to stop slicing and start cuddling. Unpacking will have to wait. What a shame!
Writing With Abandon 
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