I’ve been back in the US for more than one week, but really only home for a few days. Never again will I underestimate the power of jetlag. It’s been the bane of my crazy days, chasing me throughout the day, rendering me useless and holding me captive whenever I stop moving. I’ve been nodding off in totally deep sleep in front of the TV, on the train, in the car. I’m up at 4 am and in a dazed blur by 5pm.

At a meeting the other day, I promised my team that I would get back to them next week on something that I had to respond to immediately. The fog in my brain needs to lift soon or else I’m going to have to quit.

I guess it didn’t help that in the last week, I have crossed all time zones. From Manila to Chicago to New York and then San Francisco. Caught in the UN General Assembly/Pope Francis Visit traffic in New York, I welcomed the delay as I nodded off in the car on the way to the airport. Even the shops across the street from my hotel in Union Square could not rouse me into activity. One purse had been calling my name for a few months at the Goyard store three steps away from the hotel. And yet, the thought of getting to my bed was much more enticing than hugging a new leather baby in my arms.

No joke – in my sluggishness a few days ago, I slipped and fell in the shower and jammed my middle finger. So add a sprained finger to the wrath of the time zones.

This madness has got to end soon.

At least until I fly to Europe at the end of the month.