What time is it?
At some indeterminate time between yesterday and today, 19,000m over the North Atlantic, I (re)read these sentences in Pattern Recognition:
… “I’m so tired I’m not sure I know what it’s like not to be, jet lag seems like a luxury of those who don’t travel much, and I feel like I’ve been beaten with rubber hoses.”
And I thought, “Yeah, I can identify with that.”
Currently six hours ahead of whatever equilibrium I’d managed to reach in the past two or three weeks. Accreditation and press conferences don’t happen until tomorrow. I’m thinking of going for a run, then forcing myself to go downtown until dinnertime (assuming I can find “downtown”) and only then allowing myself more sleep.
![[Swinging off a dragger, Cundy's Harbor, Maine, July 4th, 2003]](/images/cundys_harbor.jpg)