My body is in Toronto.
My heart is in Aotearoa (well, except for the bit that's in PNG).
My mind is catching up with me, full of memories from Aotearoa and Sydney and here.
My dreams are in Hawaii, when they're not in Waiwhetu.
I'm wide awake and sleepy at all the wrong times, and I keep dressing for the wrong season. Yesterday I dressed for a coolish summer day and opened the blinds to see snow falling gently but insistently to the ground. My email inbox is helplessly swollen but every time I go near it I sit and stare, waiting for it to slowly evaporate rather than wading in to find the blockage in a drain and let the water soak back into the ground. I watched something rubbishy on TV tonite while I ate my dinner, tears running down my cheeks for people I didn't know, a victim of tired nerves too close to the flimsy surface.
It's 1.30am and I'm going to lie on my bed, to convince my wide-awake self to go to sleep. In the morning I'll wake up with a thick head, dry throat and puffy eyes, quietly stomping through to the kitchen to switch on the kettle and make toast.
It's the day after the day after arriving; by tomorrow nite all will be fine again. This is how it always goes. This too shall pass. This, as Oprah would say, is what I know for sure.