One Week In and As Much of a Wreck As Ever

Today marks the beginning of my second week back in the states.  I finally feel like I'm back in kilter with my sleep schedule, but my body's a mess.

My first meal back in America was, as planned, my beloved Taco Bell.  My parents met me in Atlanta (Mom armed with tears and a bag of fudgy brownies, Dad with a great big smile and a warm hug), and we braved the tropical-level rain (Indonesia doesn't want to let me forget anything).  Thankfully Atlanta traffic was nonexistent, and we had a smooth ride home.  Oh, and a delicious poser Mexican dinner!

Jet lag had its grips in me before my plane even landed.  For those who have never traveled internationally, jet lag isn't just an inability to adjust your sleep schedule.  At least not when you're doing a 180 degree switch of 12 hours.  My sleep schedule was actually normal.  In bed by 10pm, awake by 8am.  The problem with jet lag is that it makes your body feel like you ran a marathon without training, shot a gun with kickback that dislocated your shoulder, let a car run over your legs a few times, and overdosed on sodium tablets until your feet swell up to twice their size.  It's a bundle of fun.

On top of all this misery, I stupidly ignored the little warning voice in my head that said, "Take it easy with what you eat, Hannah.  Your body isn't used to all these preservatives and hormones and chemicals in your food.  Your stomach can't handle the richness.  Take your time."  Instead, I listened to the pulsing message of the PMS estrogen in my body that screamed "BROWNIES!"  And I ate the whole pan.  Now is definitely the time to say, "Whoa fatty."

I paid the price.  I don't know if I picked up a bug on the plane, if I had residual illness from Indonesia, or if my body simply couldn't handle the fat, sugar, and sheer volume of junk that I was shoveling into it.  There are too many factors to figure it out.  The next day, I was in bed and the bathroom, alternating extreme exhaustion and nausea.  But I will say this - I have never enjoyed throwing up as much as I did on that day.  I reveled in the clean bathroom, the toilet's flushing mechanism, the sink where I could rinse my face, and the tap water I could use to rinse my mouth.  People, you have no idea the things we take for granted!

I'm a few days out from my day of luxurious misery and feeling better, but I still have to watch it.  I can't finish a beer.  I can't even drink a glass of wine.  I'm pretty sure that I've developed lactose intolerance (woe is me!).  Any food that isn't roughage gives me the heartburn of a 60 year old Italian man.  I don't even like sugary things that much.  Ugh.  All my dreams of repatriation have been thwarted!