Tales from the Towers: Jet lag to the rescue

Back home, I went through a week of being light-headed and confused. Of course my jet lag was worse than ever. I suddenly enjoy big breakfasts at two in the morning. I lie down for what I think will be a short afternoon nap at five in the afternoon, then wake up at 11, look at my watch in a panic, and realize that I've missed the piano recital, which started at six. But like everything bad, jet lag has its good sides - it serves as a wonderful excuse to put things off:

"How can I go to the gym when I'm so sleepy?" Or, "I can do my shopping next week, when I'm finally back on my feet."

"Yes, I know I should rearrange my closet for autumn, but do I really need my jackets now, or can it wait for next week?" is a good one.

But then phone calls start coming, most of them welcome but some of them just annoying:

How was your flight, how was the weather, what did you do those three weeks, isn't it good to be home again, etc. It gets repetitive and monotonous - until I remember my lifesaver, the jet lag, and I finally say:

"I'm still jetlagged, you know, can I call you back next week?"

And I add the name of the caller to a list which has become impressive.

Yes, it's quite wonderful to be home again, but all that reorganization ... how does everything accumulate so? My phone is out of order and I have to take it down to the lab, I need a haircut urgently, and I stand there and think to myself:

What first, the phone or the haircut?

And then I go to bed!

An uninvited visitor comes to keep me company - my conscience. And conscience has an insistent voice:

"How can you be so unproductive? Don't you know that procrastination won't get you anywhere?"

OK, OK, I get out of bed and decide to contact my hairdresser.

He's in New York, his assistant tells me, call again next week.

That's upsetting. How can he enjoy himself in New York while my hair has gotten out of proportion?

So... back to bed!

I lie there with four back-issues of Time Magazine, but then I put them all aside and think with pleasure of the beautiful party we had last Monday. We celebrated a joint birthday of two very good friends, and what made it special was that we all met in the very pretty succah which we have out in our garden. Everybody brought food. Much too much food. And while we were eating, strangely enough, the lights in the succah flickered on and off. For a while we tried to find out whether this was just a whim of fate - or if maybe someone who ate too much didn't want to be watched and manipulated the electricity? In the end it didn't matter because the party was a success, except for the sad moment when we remembered the one good friend who hosted last year's party and is now no longer with us. 

The fall holidays are over and I'm looking for an umbrella. Last year I had four. So where are they?

Lucca