Jet Lag

[note: in keeping with the need to respect radio silence until The Carter Center STO mission is over, I’m putting these posts up in sequence, with a one week delay from realtime. In realtime, I’m now waiting in the Schiphol airport lounge for my AMS->SFO connection home.]

It’s like a hangover you get for free, without going to the trouble of getting drunk first. I’m 11 hours out of sync with where and when my body thinks I should be, and it’s not missing a chance to complain of the fact. I’m doing all the right things: avoiding heavy foods, drinking lots of water and getting as much morning sunlight as my feeble complexion can handle. But I really just need to lie down and close my eyes for a couple of minutes. If I do, of course, I’ll be dead to the world until I pop wide awake at 10 p.m., staring down the prospect of another sleepless night followed by another zombified day. Awkward to be slumped over in my chair, drooling all over briefing notes of Utmost Importance. Oh please… just a minute or two… I promise. Yeah, right. I’ll set an alarm. A lot of good that did you last time. But the pillows…. No.

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