Geographical Purgatory

There was turbulence on the flight. It woke me up. My eyes were barely open as I reached across and grabbed the third little travelers arm.

“Are you okay – are you scared?”

“No – I like it” he grinned.

“Ask Annie if she’s scared”

He leaned over and lifted an earphone from his sister’s ear. “Are you scared? Do you want me to hold your hand”

She looked at him like he’d just told her he’d found out he’d contracted the ebola virus.

“I think she’s fine” he whispered, and I went back to sleep.

In the midst of the turbulence I dreamt that we landed. It was like falling asleep in front of the television and dreaming that Letterman had popped by to tell you the top 10.

I woke confused. Hadn’t we landed? Why were we still flying?

And then I realized exactly what had happened.

We’d crashed, we were actually dead. It was just like an episode of Lost.

We were in purgatory.

I spent five minutes this morning looking for the tall glasses. My eyes had that familiar burn, the jet lag burn.

“Where did your father put the tall glasses while we were away?”

The second little traveler ignored me as she wandered by.

I sighed out loud.

“This is ridiculous, why would he suddenly decide to move the glasses?”

And then it clicked mid sentence “they were here yesterd….”

I wasn’t here yesterday.

The tall glasses are in a different cupboard, in another house, in another country.

This will happen all week.

Geographical purgatory.

Lost. The cheese knife, the salad servers, the little white bowls.

I took an antibiotic yesterday, but I’m not actually sure when yesterday was? I think there’s been two dinners and a breakfast. Did they serve wine with lunch or was that breakfast? Did I ask for wine with my breakfast?

Within two hours of landing we were on our way to school, it was familiar but different. It’s not just the new families, it’s the old ones that you realize are no longer there. I handed over the wrong credit card at the supermarket, I was waiting for the usual questions “flybys? Sports vouchers for Schools? Pin of sign?” Instead it was a confused silence. The card was Australian “no work Madam”. I’m back to being a Madam. I’ll have to wait for my next “no worries” my next “thanks love”.

“Oh shit, what’s my pin number” I mumbled under my breath.

And then later “shit, what’s my phone number?”

I exited the car park through the entry, that happens when you’re driving on the wrong side of the road. I couldn’t remember the sign in process at school.

“What time is it?”. My watch is holding on, its yet to change, it remains in Australian time, my computer, less emotional, is in Doha. My mind is placed right in the middle. My body doesn’t care – it just wants to go to bed.

As I unpacked the groceries I asked the fourth traveler how he was feeling, was he jet lagged? Was he happy to be back?

“It doesn’t feel like we’re meant to be here just yet, maybe it will tomorrow”

And it will, because the fog will lift, and that other life, the one that keeps interrupting this one, will be a little further away.

Not forgotten, just not so close by.

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Comments

  1. This post pretty much summed up my first 36 hours back, so it makes sense it would take a week if flying halfway around the world. I consider it a success if upon arrival I’m allowed through immigration, find all the luggage, don’t lose a child, hail a taxi, am able to open the doors at home (special locks when we’re gone), and manaage later in the day to walk a block and a half to my Albert Heijn grocery story for emergency provisions. Taking a shower is optional that first day.

  2. It’s always tough to change gears, time zones and sides of the road but I am guessing it won’t take long to get back into the swing of things. There is a lot of upside I think in being able to totally immerse yourself in more than one location and be just as at ‘home’ in either place give or take a tall glass or few. Here’s to a good night’s sleep all round.

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  4. Thank you so much for writing this.
    I used to be a full time expat growing up – I now work full time in the UK and ‘Go home’ for holidays. I lost count how many times I asked; the which house did I leave that skirt? or forgetting to change my Sim Cards over when ever I landed.
    My friends here don’t seem to understand just how easy it is to slip back into a completely different way of life.
    Makes me miss it all so much. Enjoy the sunshine.

  5. Fuzzhead. I hate it. And I’m not even changing continents. Do have a good school year for the travellers and a good recovery for yourself.

  6. Oh, wow, hard to imagine trying to be this jetlagged and trying to function! Can’t you build in a couple of days decompression time? My sympathies…

  7. Yes – this is just how it is. All you can do is propel your body where it must go and wait for your mind to catch up. I hope you feel better soon.

  8. Jetlag is tough. And it’s harder to get over the older you get, I reckon – the kids seem to manage it so much easier. Hope you feel more ‘with it’ soon! xx

  9. Every year I swear I am going to take a photo of the insides of my two kitchens’ cupboards and drawers so I can remember where everything is. Then I get busy and forget. The brown-handled potato masher is in Cairo, the red one in Houston. Or was it the other way around? What the heck am I looking for again? The cooking utensil drawers drive me the most crazy. Welcome home! You will be settled in no time.

    Stacy

  10. Oh gosh! I can’t believe I did the same thing with my cards as you! I’d just flown into London from Colorado and went to pick up my sweet doggy from the kennels (she’d spent most of the summer at home, as hubby had to work, but had a short stay with her friends in kennels). Using my UK debit card to pay, I accidentally punched in my US PIN! Duh! Then I took our shaggy teenager for a haircut, handed the stylist my supposed debit card, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t ask me to punch in my PIN. Silly rabbit! I’ve given him my US credit card. Now that I’ve been back for two weeks, I’ve at least stopped waking up to wonder where I am. But I still don’t know where I put my measuring spoons; or do they only exist in Colorado? As crazy at it gets, I will be so so so sad when I retire from my expat life next summer. 🙁 I will be living vicariously through your blog then . . . hugs, Kathy the teawife

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