I'm at sixty percent. Well, maybe fifty five.

My plan, when I went to Ireland, was that I could justify going only if I promised myself that

(a) I would be so, so super prepared so that when I left, there would be no stone left unturned, no draft left ungraded, and also some stuff about a clean house, and

(b) when I came back, I would be so, so supercharged about getting back to work, being right on things, etc. etc.

I left the house at 7:45 this morning. You know, that part of jet lag when you come back from another country, and you wake up at 4:30 a.m., just for kicks? so you can think about stuff, like what you'll wear and why you can't go back to sleep? I had that. I might as well get up and go, I thought.

Also, this morning I had every intention of grading drafts (the ones that I had left ungraded, so that's how part (a) above went), but although I had this intention, and though I had the hours, I did not grade. No, no, I did not grade. Instead, I talked to people about Ireland. It was way fun.

The result of which was, I went to class and even though I had a plan, sort of, I was not at the top of my game, the people. Not even a little bit near the top. I was at the middle of my game, if that.

So the moral of the story is--kind of a short story for a moral, I know--you cannot beat the jet lag. Jet lag gone getcha. So there's really no use in trying to pretend otherwise.

For instance, I packed workout clothes this morning because, by golly, I thought I would for sure work out after work after flying across a continent and several time zones and an ocean the day before! However, and this will surprise no one, I did NOT feel like working out.

And it wasn't the kind of 'I don't feel like it' that turns into a surprisingly refreshing, 'so glad I did that' work out. No, it was the kind of 'I think I might melt into the floor' kind of 'I don't feel like it.' So I acted on that thought. I went home. I did some laundry and I lay around on the bed.

I won't say it was glorious, but in the end, it seemed appropriate. Somebody's gotta get real around here, and face the facts. The supercharged, super tired facts.

[poem]