I got back from Australia today. I was intrigued to find, after a few hours, that it felt as though I was sitting on a floating dock. The floor rocked back and forth. Gently, mind you. In fact I even thought, maybe this is an earthquake? Just, you know, the long and gentle kind. A My Pretty Pony earthquake.
But it's the jet lag, I'm guessing, combined with not much sleep in the last 2 days. And, perhaps, the fact that I've spent a lot of the last week on ferries traveling Sydney Harbour. The inner ear is a funny thing, and mine tends to remember water very well, and very long.
Whatever the reason, it's not a bad metaphor for the feeling of dislocation that comes with returning to the States. I've been gone long enough that I had forgotten my room, if that makes any sense. That even as I could never quite figure out which side of the car to get into (much to the amusement of my friends), that the idea of the steering wheel on the left just seems wrong. Wrong and dangerous.
And I can't help but think, as I sit here at 10pm writing this, wasn't it moments ago just noon in Sydney? Truly, moments ago. How did I get here? And actually, where am I exactly?
And the table on which this computer rests rocks gently. And the floor curls up and down. And my body feels like at any moment it might float away.