This has been a very weird week. It's Monday. And I already know this. So I expected some jet lag last week, after my India trip and getting back to work straightaway. But nope, there was none. Elated, I told myself that I was becoming one of those veteran travelers who always brag that they never get jet lag. I don't know about you but I always hope that they'll fall asleep in their soup as they're telling me this.
Anyways, flash forward six days. I feel sick. Add to that a crummy work day full of underachieving students and bosses who talk of cutting positions at work and other nebulous risks. Getting towards a sicker feeling in the stomach as evening approaches. Now we complete this picture with two unhappy children who are probably coming down with something themselves. I don't know whether I have some vague virus, PMS or the stomach 'flu, but there's certainly something wrong in Central America. (Isn't that a cute name for an ever-expanding mid-section? It's like it has a mind of its own!).
Back to my weird week. I went to sleep at 8, and now here I am at the cinderella hour beating out tired phrases from the keyboard. What is wrong with me? Why do I worry so much? Why can't I just let things fall into place in a natural rhythm? I don't know. I haven't a clue. When I think I know what I'm doing, I just successfully make it worse.
They say that it can only get better once you hit rock bottom. Question is, have I hit rock bottom yet? I guess there's only one way to find out. By then I hope my prose will not feel so shopworn and cheesy.
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