For the record, I would just like to state to the TSA, FBI, CIA, Secret Service, President Obama, former presidents dating back to George Washington, and the local police who will be assigned to beat down my front door, I am joking. When in doubt assume I am joking.
Also, you are all doing a marvelous job, so keep it up. :)
Right, disclaimer is out of the way, it's story time.
It's a little after 1 a.m. on a Friday morning, about two days after I flew over the entire Pacific Ocean with no sleep, and the entire west coast with a small child kicking my chair, and another child in front of me, asking more questions than the customs official did when he say my overstuffed backpack.
You would think I would be begging for sleep. I am. In fact, I can barely keep my eyes open, and yet I cannot fall asleep.
I have counted: sheep, cows, emus, kangaroos, and sugar cane. Nothing.
I'm not as tired as I was yesterday after flying 15 hours from Melbourne, over the entire Pacific Ocean and every single island in it, and landed in LA at 6 a.m. to be greeted by customs agents who have not had their coffee, morning happy time, nor, seemingly, a hug.
I've long given up being welcomed back into my own country. Now, they assume I'm smuggling something in, like a koala or worse, Vegemite.
I was greeted by a bomb sniffing dog, that definitely paused a little too long at my bag. No, I did not have anything like that in there. I'm sure he just smelled the pets at my friends' house. But it was enough for the dog-walking-man in uniform to look at me.
"How are you?" He asked.
"Good, slightly tired, but good."
"Where did you fly in from?"
"Australia"
"Line 15 please."
Line 15 is the line I was in to begin with, because it is the only line for US citizens at 6 am on a Wednesday morning.
In theory, US citizens do not need to be fingerprinted, or have their picture taken. I, thankfully, did not either. However, there were people in front of me, constantly getting checked.
Lord, help me not to fall over from exhaustion.
"How was your flight?"
"Long but good"
"Did you sleep much?"
"Not really."
"Have a good day"
EASY!
Nope. After waiting for my bag to be unloaded, I had to clear another part of customs.
Do you have anything to declare?
Besides what I wrote down?
He looks at my list of purchases, that includes boomerangs (weapon), wine (alcohol), and beach towels (that had grass, sand, and Aussie dirt on them)
Did I have food?
No
Not even Vegemite?
Nope.
Anything you're not telling me?
A lot of things, but I'm pretty sure I'll be arrested if I say them. I shook my head.
You're free to go.
Since then, I have been trying to sleep. For those of you that know me, know this is a rare thing. I'm normally bouncing around and have to be physically exhausted before I think of bed time.
This time? I'm begging for the clock to read 9 p.m. so I can go to sleep.
It was 10:30 tonight, I could barely keep my eyes open as I climbed the stairs. I collapsed into bed, and laid there, wide awake. And why not? Because it was only 3:30 in the afternoon in Australia (granted it's tomorrow at 3:30, but still 3:30).
I only slept 12 hours last night, with an hour and a half nap in the morning. I should not be unable to sleep. I didn't even drink caffeine or take an afternoon nap. I think I might be broken.
Please note, I adjusted fine in New Zealand. Granted, I was awake at 5a.m. the first two mornings, and nearly every morning after that-due to wake up calls.
But I adjusted.
Come home, to a large comfy bed. No sleep.
I've read every blog known to man. I've even read the economic section of the NY Times; and that didn't put me to sleep!
So here I am, at 1:30 in the morning, typing away and posting photos to facebook, so I can at least be productive as I battle Jet Lag.
I also know tomorrow is going to suck if I don't sleep tonight.
Here's to the memories of New Zealand and Australia! And to hope I will be able to sleep.
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