When I was in my early twenties, and certainly never before I was twenty-one, I would find myself in a state of fog. Perhaps this was alcohol included fog, unless you have photos, I may never admit to it. We can all relate to this “fog”, the one where you think you’re handling yourself really well. You carry on coherent conversations, wax philosophical, and look really, really good. At least you think you do. When in all reality for us ladies, your mascara is probably smudged around your eyes, your forehead is a bit sweaty, your nose is shiny, and those cheeks are giving off that tell-tale pinky color. If you’re of the male species, your forehead is sweaty as well, your eyes are a bit droopy, and your undershirt is sticking to you like you’ve just completed an Iron Man. You’ve probably repeated yourself three times, slurred at least five, but when you did, you stopped, slowly corrected yourself and thought, “not too shabby, they have no idea I’m drunk!”
It’s all fun and games until the next day you realize, I don’t remember 85 percent of last night. That’s what jet lag is like to me. Without the hangover thankfully! I’ve traveled internationally quite a few times in my short life, and hope to be so fortunate that I can experience the delights of jet lag many more times. The thing about drunkeness and jet lag is that you remember the most unimportant details of your travels. You can’t recall where the hell your shoes are, but you know that the guy who tried to buy you a cocktail was wearing a “Tapout” t-shirt. Hey, at least he has gumption if no style sense. And you can recall that the flight attendant had purple nail polish, but where on earth did you jam those customs forms!? The fun continues when you land and bumble your way through the immigration interview, the man at the end of the line asks if you have any trail mix or beef jerky. Seriously? I just told him I had some baby food, and he comes up with trail mix and beef jerky? Yup, my ten month old just loves her some beef jerky!
The fog continues for the next two days I’m convinced. You put on a straight face, and act like an adult. Yet, at the end of those two days when you finally feel less like an Alzheimer’s patient, you know you had conversations with people, but about what, you’ll never know. One day, I think I’ll try to enjoy jet lag, when I can lounge around for a couple of days, Charlie can feed and bath herself, and I won’t have to worry about who I told what to. Unless its Charlie and I told her she could date. Because that’s never happening.