I want to be here. I’m not here.

I feel mildly better, like the jet lag is subsiding a little. Or as someone told me this morning, “I don’t think that is jet lag, I think it’s your normal personality.” Oh, okay then. It has been an interesting week, all said. I will not get into details, because my mother reads this, so I will leave it at interesting. Eventful. Confusing. Awesome. Probably ill advised. Whatever.

I was in an airport yesterday waiting to board a plane and a woman sat next to me with a baby who was maybe four months old. The baby was crying and squirming and then noticed me and literally leaped into my arms. I was surprised (and on the phone, and holding coffee, it wasn’t great for my dress) but it’s actually not that unusual. For some weirdo reason, babies love me. Especially boy babies. Whatever that attraction is clearly goes away by the time they are functional adults with jobs, cars and credit cards, but as children they all apparently think I’m great. The woman started to react and then just slumped back in her seat and whimpered, she was probably the most tired I’ve ever seen a human. I could see her trying to work out the odds of having just randomly sat down next to Bruno Hauptmann, deciding they were fairly low, and then just thought she would take advantage of five minutes of peace. She even went to the bathroom and left him with me. This feels like more trust in mankind than I have ever mustered up, but fatigue makes you crazy, I think. This is a long story to explain that I am done with jet lag as an excuse for doing stupid shit, because it could be a lot worse. But holding a baby who would be around the same age as the baby you lost is another, specific kind of cruel, and I am still recovering.

So. Trying to function but I have fuck all to work with here today.