So I'm Back!
Monday, March 10, 2008
That was weirdly hard work. I think it's the being on duty bit — you're full on, all the time. Counter that, though, with a hotel bedroom (love those little bottles in the shower, and the fact that you don't make your own bed, let alone your kids beds…) and a week without dishes, food shopping and 4th Grade math homework, and I can't complain (okay, so I can, but I probably shouldn't). And… the really good news is that the book made it to #5 in the UK Sunday Times Hardcover chart, so all the smiling and signing and schlepping and listening to the eventually quite irritating sound of my own voice was all completely worth it. Hurrah!
The downside of a week in London is a bad dose of homesickness. I realize, when I go home, that I miss all sorts of small and obscure things about England. Television and newspapers and sausages and chocolate and taxi drivers and certain clothes shops… and that's before I even start on my friends — who I adore — and family. It's discombobulating. You realize that you are somewhat stateless — no longer quite at home there, and not yet entirely at home here. Mid–Atlantic. I wonder how long that feeling lasts, and when your soul and your psyche relocates? Thank goodness I flew home to the girls, who I miss like a leg when I'm away. And you're straight back into it — they don't give an inch for jet lag, or diva–like tendencies or delusions of grandeur developed during said absence…
One week until Spring Break. We're going to Las Vegas for a week, to meet friends. No matter how much I emphasise the whole 'Death Valley, Grand Canyon, great shows' aspect of the trip, it still sounds like I'm saying Sodom and Gomorrah when I whisper it in New York… I promise we're staying in a hotel with no casino, and that we'll blindfold the children whenever necessary…
The downside of a week in London is a bad dose of homesickness. I realize, when I go home, that I miss all sorts of small and obscure things about England. Television and newspapers and sausages and chocolate and taxi drivers and certain clothes shops… and that's before I even start on my friends — who I adore — and family. It's discombobulating. You realize that you are somewhat stateless — no longer quite at home there, and not yet entirely at home here. Mid–Atlantic. I wonder how long that feeling lasts, and when your soul and your psyche relocates? Thank goodness I flew home to the girls, who I miss like a leg when I'm away. And you're straight back into it — they don't give an inch for jet lag, or diva–like tendencies or delusions of grandeur developed during said absence…
One week until Spring Break. We're going to Las Vegas for a week, to meet friends. No matter how much I emphasise the whole 'Death Valley, Grand Canyon, great shows' aspect of the trip, it still sounds like I'm saying Sodom and Gomorrah when I whisper it in New York… I promise we're staying in a hotel with no casino, and that we'll blindfold the children whenever necessary…
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home