Home. Finally. Feel like crap. Knew I would. Always do.
Although...I'm elated that it's only Friday and I have 2 1/2 days to readjust and enjoy downtime in my own home before returning to Reality. I typically book my return for as late as possible on a Sunday -- which always seems like such a good idea at the time, when I'm homebound and it's gray and rainy outside. Then, landing in O'Hare on Sunday at 6:00 -- Monday looming right around the corner -- I vow to never do it to myself again. But when the winds blow off Lake Michigan, straight at me, and it's travel-planning time, I forget.
Jetlag affords me plenty of wide-awake time to relive my trip. Was it a success? Not really, although it had its moments. I kick myself repeatedly over the missing passport page (but how was I to know? Should I have known?) and wonder what would have been in Bali. Would I have met the Love of My Life like Elizabeth Gilbert or would I have been thrown into a jail cell like Schapelle Corby? Very likely neither. I realize that.
In retrospect, though, my foreboding and fretting were not without merit. The shoe *did* drop in the Bangkok Airport.
But I'm home. All's well that ends well, right?
WRONG.
To be continued.
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