Jet Lag?

I'm eating dry cereal in a dusty-pink jumper I bought from Target to shield me from the unforgiving air conditioning. It's now 3 a.m., and I can't sleep. My physiology continues to run in sync with East Coast time, while my body struggles to inhabit the present one.

Or, perhaps I left a piece of my heart somewhere along America's Eastern Seaboard, and it's trying to find me. It keeps lagging behind, tugging gently at my body, attempting to pull it back into its orbit. I don't mind. I've brewed a cup of decaffeinated tea in the hope that its warmth might soften me into slumber.

Either way, I can't sleep. I mentioned earlier that I spent my flight back to the UK sipping wine and eating cheese crackers. As I did, sleep remained as many miles from me as I was from home. The cabin crew closed the window shades and dimmed the lights to create the illusion of night, and later of dawn, making it easier for passengers to sleep. Even so, there was a small instinct within me that resisted the conditioning of my circumstances. No, I shan't sleep - not even if the cabin crew play tricks with the lighting.

So I didn't.

I enjoyed being awake while everyone else snoozed. I became increasingly engrossed in the relational dynamics unfolding on the screen before me, quietly rooting for love.

I still do.

It's what keeps me awake.