I stumbled off the plane into Newark Airport, two-and-a-half movies and a few hours of sleep after Tokyo, a night and 11 hours on the plane after Auckland, which was five hours on a plane and one hotel night from Tahiti.
This is definitely a silly route to take home.
I felt vaguely triumphant as I stood dazed on Terminal C's moving sidewalks, locked inside the enclosed space on the wrong side of passport control, the evening's dramatic sky outside the glass showing off across the departure gates lobby.
That's it then. I went around the world.
For ten months.
And now I was home. Which is the scariest part of all. What do the days ahead hold? But I didn't have time to think about that yet. I had to get to the Amtrak station—it's at the airport and I only had to take the Airtrain—and then get to Washington DC tonight. There I'd allow myself collapse before visiting with the Other Marie and heading to my mother's in the morning.
I didn't get any good photos of Newark's lovely sky tonight, but Ray, who is housesitting my apartment, said I could use a couple of his. He took photos too, right out the front window of my place in JC.