I have scurried back to the Oxfordshire countryside for the weekend, trying to stay away from the bright lights of London and get my body clock back on Greenwich Mean Time. I’ve experienced a double-dip jet lag coming home, where I thought I had it conquered by Tuesday, but overslept until noon on Wednesday, and still struggling to go to sleep at night time and wake up at day time.
Cowboy is doing his best to help. At 7.30am this morning, he spammed my phone with messages:
You awake yet?
Wake up woman 😉
Rise and shine
Do I need to come pull the covers off you?
It took seven messages to rouse me from my dream, in which I was receiving messages from him telling me to search for something on Youtube but I didn’t understand what it was I should be searching for. I was a little confused when I eventually came to.
I’m currently enjoying the wonders of… compression! That is tubigrip from my left ankle all the way up to above my knee. Swelling from my torn knee ligaments (long story) was apparently pooling in my calf and behind my knee, and needs to be encouraged to get out of there. I tend to view it as a nice excuse to put my feet up for a few more days.
Doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was sitting with my feet up, a cup of tea and a good book, with this glorious sight spread before me.
So it’s only natural that, upon returning to London and to university, stricken with jet lag and PMT, my first impulse is to hide in my dad’s man cave and research preserving jars. The adjustment phase is an interesting journey.