Jet lag mornings

She knows, now, absolutely, hearing the white noise that is London, that Damien's theory of jet lag is correct: that her mortal soul is leagues behind her, being reeled in on some ghostly umbilical down the vanished wake of the plane that brought her here, hundreds of thousands of feet above the Atlantic. Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage.

Dipping in and out of sleep until 4am local time. Out of the house and off to Majestic, arriving just after 7.

Back straight after work, eggplant parmigiana for tea, and bed by 8.

This is the life.