foomart foomart

 Monday, October 31

So, jet lag, huh. Everyone warned me about it, everyone told me it'd kick my ass. Pish tosh, I said. Pshaw. Folderololol. I set my watch to New York time when I got on the plane in Sydney, and forced my internal clock to mesh, which it did with a little grinding of gears. Got home and it was bedtime, went to bed, and got up the next morning at a reasonable hour. Triumph! Jet lag can't touch me!

Ha ha ha. As it turns out, that ain't jet lag. Jet lag is the other thing, the thing which, combined with a bad cold, SAD, and a generous dollop of malaise (it's hell, man), put me into a fucked-up tailspin for a week and a half. I was hanging onto the edge, but I couldn't climb back into my routine for the life of me. It wasn't until yesterday that I felt like myself, and today we finally took back our house for real, cleaning, cooking, reclaiming. I'm so fucking happy to be back.

Now I've just got to get back into the 3-class routine. I only did the one tonight but it's mostly because no other women stayed for grappling and I didn't want to grapple with icky boys. They are known to have cooties; it's been scientifically proven with advanced testing equipment.

8:38 PM

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