Let's face it, I'm back

Around 2 am, still on San Francisco time, my brain decided it had slept enough. I tossed and turned, admonished and begged, turned and tossed some more, resorted to 50 mg of diphenhydramine hydrochloride; the Maximum Strength Softgels gave me about an hour of respite.
At 4 am I was fully, painfully awake, and ready to clean the flat, reorganise my cupboard and take some life-changing resolutions.
It is now 6pm, I’ve been through a day’s work like one goes through a meat grinder, the flat won’t get cleaned or reorganised any time soon, and I’ll have to postpone the life-change for a little while longer. Such are the joys of 8 hour-jetlag. At this point I would like to shamelessly borrow my girlfriend’s favourite words of wisdom: it’s hard being me.

So I’m back. Better get used to it, it’s likely to last for a few weeks/months.
London is ever so slightly leafier than when I left, three weeks ago. The cat remembers who I am. The job is the same, I realised today how familiar and comforting the place and its people are. We greeted each other with something akin to warmth.
After three weeks of being a guest, the too quiet girlfriend of the most popular girl in the room, a foreigner with a cute hybrid accent and very little idea of what’s going on, I’m back to my realm; my accent is not so cute here, and I’m not nearly as quiet. I’m back to rules I know, people I don’t have to win over anymore, my things, my bad habits.
I wish it wasn’t such a relief.

My life-changing resolutions all have to do with hubris. I wish it came in 50 mg pills.