Some of my favorite days are those surreal, twenty-two-plus-waking-hour anomalies that occur when you’ve traveled by air and arrive at your destination in the early morning (destination time).
For example, imagine that you wake at 7AM, go through a normal day, fly out at 7PM (heading west), and arrive at your destination at 7AM. There you meet with friends, family, professional contacts or the like, and continue on without sleeping. You find a second wind. A third. A fourth.
I recently experienced such a day, and was reminded of just how much I cherish them. I find myself alone in this, as most people I know tend to hate them.
A friend recently asked me why I like these freakish mega-days.
I love the surreal sensory clarity that ensues; I love the sharpness of sunlight and depth of darkness. I love simultaneously experiencing exhaustion and jittery enthusiasm.
I love the otherworldly silence of my long-awaited hotel room and the dreamless, death-like sleep that claims me when I finally turn in.