Jesus. Go away for two weeks and the whole world goes to hell. Or so it would seem.
Yes, I'm back from my wonderful sojourn to the Emerald Isle, land of my paternal grandmother's people, poor Ulster Scots from the Mourne Mountains of County Down. Don't know much beyond that and I haven't had the time to track them down, as I probably should. Somewhere along the line - perhaps via emigration - they seem to have evolved from Church of Englanders (Anglicans) or Episcopalians to Roman Catholics. You just know there's a great story there - if I can find it. Perhaps when I have more time.
Anywho, I'm back. And let me just say this: jetlag is one of the most truly hellish experiences one can be forced to deal with. I did NOT handle it well. Of course, having pulled an all-nighter the day before getting on the plane, driving all the way to JFK, and then NOT being able to sleep on the damned 6-hour flight probably was not a very good idea. When I finally crashed, after spending about 50 hours awake, and took a nap (like we were explicitly told NOT to do), upon being awoken, I felt like I was within one of the circles of Dante's Hell. Or maybe Stephen King's "The Shining". Danny isn't here, Mrs. Torrance!