I left to a pizza party. I returned to a room full of balloons.
I am back from Singapore. I've been back. Weeks ago, Rita and Sarah risked abandoning children to the care of the dads and picked me up at the airport on a Wednesday night. With the time changes, my body felt like it was Thursday morning. I'd left something like 26 hours prior. Visited Tokyo (but stayed in the terminal, thus depriving my passport of a Japan stamp). Visited Chicago (but also stayed in the terminal, and was close to brain dead at that point). And home.
My friends. My bed. My stuff. My tv, my books, my movies, my wonderful condo. An empty fridge, no cable, but my place. I spend time just walking around and looking at everything. Despite being on the verge of a coma, I stay up 2 hours more with nervous energy. I start unpacking (I do this fairly often when I travel. I don't like leaving junk in the suitcase for a week).
I have thought much about the things I want to do first. Drive. See friends. Eat pizza and Chickfila and play with iTunes and download all the music that came out while I was gone.
I do all these things and more. (pizza actually took awhile, because as an awesome present, the Singapore work people threw me a pizza party the day before I left. It was completely cool. And yummy.)
Adjusting to the time difference was easier coming back. Attempting to stay up as much as possible on the long flight helped.
Went into work a few days later, and had a nice group waiting as I got off the elevator. Too cool. My office was the same as I'd left it, only now it was filled almost to the ceiling with balloons. Opening the door, they began to spill out onto the floor. I dove in to an ocean of candy colored balloon madness.