When I stepped off the plane Sunday afternoon, I smelled like I'd been on the road for 30+ hours. I couldn't even stand myself. I actually felt sorry for screeners in Paris who had to frisk me down and search my bags but I didn't know how to apologize for the ultimate fail of deodrant and perfume and the lack of toothpaste/mouthwash. In the end, I followed a combination of adages to assuage my guilt: a) they are probably used to stinky travelers like me by now and b) I'm most probably never going to see the screener in question again.
This past week has been all about recovering from jetlag, which is the most awesome thing when you have to go to work first thing Monday. I was up at an ungodly hour and was actually on time at work. In fact, I do enjoy it a bit -- get up, play a little Civilization, drink a little coffee, do a little dance... you know the drill. I have managed to get through every day pretty soberly but with the edge of irritation slipping into my mood as the evening hours approach. I was told that it takes one day for every hour of difference and so it'll probably be February before I'm completely myself again.