Pressing Questions, Homecoming Edition.
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- Why aren't you awake, goddammit??!
It's 5am, Pacific Standard Time - rise and fucking shine, people!
There are few things in life I despise more than jetlag. Just ask Hole and Caiburo, who had to endure my paranoia that first week in Paris. The reason you're up is a glitch in your body's natural circadian rhythms, but when 4am rolls around and poof - you're more wired than Michael Irvin, you automatically think it's due to insomnia and anxiety.
- How couldn't it be? I mean, you only woke up to the First Day of the Rest of Your Life where you're starting with no place of your own, no income, no idea what's going to happen, no road map, no instruction manual, no syllabus for the "Now Let's Find a Decent Journalism Job" quarter.....meanwhile your ex is suddenly 10 minutes away, probably sleepting snugly next to New Mr. Wonderful, in your old apartment. (But you're not bitter...)
Okay, let's shift gears, literally.
- How is it that Mexico City is so friggin' huge? I wonder this every time I'm landing into the place. The pilot begins his descent 30 minutes before touching ground, and we've already hit el centro. And that reminds me...
- How did I think we would not have yet another crappy Mexicana landing if I bitched about this in my last post? Everything was running smoothly, the wheels touched down, then screeeech! - the pilot slams on the brakes like he's landing at Midway in a snowstorm. People fly forward in their seats, and several let out those nervous yelps usually reserved for abnormally bad pockets of turbulence, as the plane sways back-and-forth across the runway.
Not a bad metaphor actually, for The First Day of the Rest of Your Life, coming off of AP Venezuela.
- After three hours of sleep, rising at 4:30am to catch an 8am flight, not getting any shuteye on the five-hour flight to Mexico City, and eating a "breakfast burrito" the size of my thumb, how did I not think I would get completely wasted off of two beers in the airport bar? Which leads me to...
- Why didn't I check - before waiting in line for more than an hour - to see if I actually had to clear immigration through Mexico? Could it have anything to do with question no. 5? At age 28, experienced man of the world and all that stupid crap, am I still that dumb? Really?
- Isn't it strange how you know you're almost home because the people sitting next to you at the gate have suddenly become a lot fatter? No, you're right, I guess that makes sense.
On the flight to God's Country, I asked the woman next to me in Spanish if I could borrow her in-flight magazine. She just stared, expressionless, then said, "I'm sorry, wha?" And I thought "Duh, Dickie - of course she doesn't speak Spanish - she's pushing 350, for crissake." Viva McDonald's.
- Is it a bad omen that the first thing I do when arriving home is scratch my dad's SUV, leaving the hatch open while he pulls all the way into the garage and I'm too tired and out-of-it to react and say "hey, maybe I should close the door if he's gonna do that"? That's bad, right?
- I'm not in Caracas! I can run around outside after dark not get shot! I'm optimistic I'll recover some of my hearing, after nearly three straight months of car horns, hooked up to megaphones, hooked up to amplifiers!
Freedom!
Overwhelming freedom, but freedom! Nonetheless!
Do I a.) go for a sunrise jog b.) go for a sunrise surf (naw, that involves pulling Bertha out of the garage - too much work for right now) or c.) maybe even do a little yoga, outside? How 'bout I go to the coffee shop down the street afterwards, 'read the paper?
- See? It's not all doom-and-gloom here at Dickie Cronkite.com, people. All you Globalers who are still floating out there, get home safe - I'm thinking of you.
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The other day while packing and catching up on some This American Life Episodes, I was totally blown away by Act Two of this episode, "Stranger in a Strange Land," on US soldiers blogging from Iraq. If the link doesn't work, go here, click on Episodes by year - 05, and scroll down to Nov. 18. Go on, click that bitch. You know you want to.
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