So last night, after getting back at 10, I started to unpack the fragile items from my suitcase, and ended up getting wrapped up with unwrapping, and sifted through two suitcases and a duffel to lay out everything I acquired during the trip. This stuff is so pretty it almost made me cry.

My apartment is, of course, a mess. I have 300 work and 300 personal emails to go through (after spam filtering), and jetlag to deal with. I'm always inspired and enthused when I'm taking off for a trip, but luckily I feel the same way when I get back. I just feel like putting so much energy into making my personal and work life have some of the magic of the trip life. I don't know if that makes any sense, but I always feel like there's utopian (Plato's utopia, not Disney's utopia) ideal of how my apartment/cube/life/psyche should be, and that I'm always climbing up the hill towards that pinnacle, but it always recedes. I know I can get there, but when I stop to rest I slip a little further away. Now I really think I have the energy to make it work.

I went to sleep around 1am and when I woke up, eyes shut, I tried to guess where I was. I knew I wasn't on the ship because I remembered having left it. I'd fallen asleep in so many airports and planes, waking up on landings, jostlings, or, more pathetically, self-droolings, that I honestly didn't know where (or when) I'd be when I opened my eyes. It was so surreal to actually be home. Adding to the strangeness was that it was 7am, exactly when I would have awoke at home without jet lag. What I really need right now is a shower, a change of clothes, and a Chai tea and Cranberry scone from the shop on the corner and I'll be really to start hiking up that mountain, with more vigor than I've had in months.

This vacation was so what I needed.