Holy Sheep
Okay! Let’s hold up for a minute before jumping to any conclusions. Yes, I will be the first to admit there are several aspects of this life which I am clueless about. For starters, I have no idea how to hang a shelf, make a baby, or operate a Mac. This week, I also learned I have little to no experience with jet lag.
After returning from New Zealand, I thought that it would only take a few days before I was back at it. Before departing, I was warned that the jet lag would be worse flying east. However, like a ginger – equal parts arrogant and naïve – I believed I would be fine. Sweet Meryl I was wrong! Never did I imagine, I would wake up each morning the better part of a week, feeling like I had the hangover of the century. Awake when I should have been asleep. Asleep when I should have been at work. It was all a right mess.
Last night, was the first time in ages that I managed to say goodnight to the moon. Waking up refreshed, seconds later I was aghast at the sight of my apartment. My poor nightstand was littered with empty cans of Diet Coke. In the living room, I screamed when I saw the hardwood floor was eclipsed by take-out bags. Stepping carefully to the washroom, I winced at the sound of Pringle chips crunching underneath my feet.
“Starting the shower, as the steam began to roll in, my reflection clouded, and my mind drifted away to a time not long ago.”
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I hesitated before flipping on the light switch. I felt just as tired as I suspected I looked, and I was right. After completing a thorough inspection of the dark circles under my eyes, I did an inventory of the white hairs on my beard: plus twenty-six. Failing to upkeep a proper skin regimen since February, I was not surprised to see that, patches of dry, red skin, had taken over my cheeks.
For a moment, I debated turning back off the lights, pouring a glass of red wine, and saying “better luck tomorrow!” But then I remembered I said that the day before, and also the day before that.
Starting the shower, as the steam began to roll in, my reflection clouded, and my mind drifted away to a time not long ago. When I whipped around New Zealand like I was a guest in Willy Wonka’s glass elevator. Moving backwards, upside down, and all around, I explored the North Island while reuniting with family.
One sunny afternoon I was in The Shire, sipping from a pint of ale at the Green Dragon Inn. The next I was standing at the edge of a cliff top, overlooking the emerald waters of the Tasmanian Sea. From New World to Countdown, streaky bacon to flat whites, I took in the local cuisine. Getting a taste of the big city, I rolled Mama Fox up and down the black diamond streets of downtown Auckland. On a farm, I tipped my hat to a cow before paying my respects to the sheep. And then before I knew it, I was back on a flight to Vancouver, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean.
“Holy Sheep!” I screamed placing one foot in the shower. The water was scalding hot.
What a painful reminder the present can sometimes be.
