Jetlag, Lifelag

Oof. Has it really been a week since I returned from Maine? I've suffered some serious re-entry burns. After spending a week sitting and watching Casco Bay gently lap against against million-year old rocks and stirring myself only to dine with my companions on lobster, mussels, blueberry cobbler, and fresh corn, I've had trouble readjusting to Austin's million degree heat and regular poop pick-up.

You may recognize the feeling of having memories of a lovely time away tarnished by the too-early race to and through a busy airport, an interminable flight whose soundtrack is the full-throated screaming of small children, the ordeal of lost luggage, the arrival home to a stale, unair-conditioned house, and the trip to the kennel, where you slap down a credit card and pay the price of another airplane ticket. And what happens next? The kennel door opens and out bursts a skinny, frantic dog that has, you realize for the first time, an uncanny resemblance to a ferret, what with her bugged-out eyes and wet, pointy nose. This dog will not, for the next week, give you a moment's peace, but will follow you into the bathroom and lie under your desk and drop a soggy tennis ball at your feet any time you stop moving. Sigh. Meanwhile, you unpack and wash the mountain of dirty laundry and fold up all those annoying plastic bags and pry off and throw away the (apparently useless) airport stickers on your suitcase before stuffing it back in the closet. Then you plow through 100 e-mails before actually getting down to work. Work. I've been whining about not having enough of it lately, and now I've got some, and that means, well, working. Toiling, laboring, exerting, drudging. In my case, I spend my days with the ancient Egyptians. Those guys knew how to work. They treasured unity and treated cats like gods. They were at the top of their game for millennia. The unlucky ones literally busted and hauled rocks in order to build the largest structures the world had ever known until the twentieth century and the advent of steel and motorized vehicles. I'm just sitting in a chair under a ceiling fan.

Still, when all the dust and hot sun and laboring, both real and imagined, gets to me, I return to this video--one minute of time by the bay. You may need it, too. Just click and enjoy. It's Maine. It's 75 degrees and sunny and breezy. The lobstah boats are droning and the birds are calling. They say, "Come back and see us next year!" Enjoy. -z