But to receive it as a threat after being away for a month seemed a little discourteous. Hate to be the guy I get to fry.
It’s nice and a little odd to be home. Because it was a concentrated dose of 20-hour days in several countries, it actually feels like I was away for several months. Driving a car for the first time felt odd. I went straight from the airport to get a haircut, to which my friend Ben astutely pointed out: “It’s like when Tom Hanks came back from the island and had to make himself look civilized again.” But my hair was so overgrown, it looked like I was wearing a piece.
There have been coma-like symptoms. I’ve forgotten a couple of Internet passwords. Forget about cable channels. Upon waking up yesterday, I sat up in my bed and for ten seconds desperately tried to recognize the hotel room I was in, and why the mattress wasn’t king size.
On the best side, I get to have Ricky back. He’s exhausted, so I’ve resorted to waking him up hourly for kisses. The bill from the fancy kennel was 1500 bucks – I’m getting my money’s worth. Welcome home, dummy.
