A Wrinkle In Time

**Started Dec. 20th, 35,000 ft somewhere over France**

The longest day of my life isn’t even half over yet. I’m in the air as we speak, somewhere about halfway between Geneva and London…..excuse the possible lack of coherence in my writing, considering I jump at every ping, ding and movement the aircraft makes.

I was pumped and ready to go at 5am this morning, my oversized pink suitcase, duly overstuffed with too many clothes for 2.5 weeks, and presents for my friends and family. The journey started without a hitch; I was on time for the tram and train, and all checked in at the British Airways guichet (window) with an hour to spare before my departure at 7:45. Minutes before we were set to board, they informed us that heavy fog in London would delay us for 45 minutes. 20 minutes before this departure time, the delay was bumped up to an hour (one scary minute where they announced our flight had been cancelled, then seconds later before the angry mob attacked the counter, they announce, “excuse me, sorry, your flight has NOT been cancelled.” (PSYCHE!)

Finally at 10am, we board the plane. 20 minutes later, another fateful announcement, “The weather conditions which were supposed to improve, have actually worsened, so our projected take off time will now be 2 hours from now.” AHHHH. 2 hours on this stuffy little plane, I thought I was going to go crazy. To top things off the food was horrible, only bacon or sausage sandwiches, or cheese and chives for the vegetarian option (which I spitefully scarfed down, out of frustration and sheer necessity). Chatted with some interesting kids who were from Kuwait, and in Geneva for a model UN competition at the Palais des Nations. They were all psyched and hoping for the flight to get cancelled because as they put it, “any day that’s NOT in Kuwait is a good day.” Seniors in high school, they had taken full advantage of the 16 yr old drinking age à Genève, and even more so than normal underage kids, considering drinking is totally illegal in Kuwait (Islamic country). One of the Indian kids was all excited when he saw my Michigan shirt and asked if I go there…..turned out he had found out 2 days ago that he had gotten accepted, and would be going there!

An hour into our 2 hour delay…more bad news. Conditions hadn’t improved and we would have to wait another 2 hours before going to London, if at all (rumors were circling that no planes would be able to fly into Heathrow today, if tomorrow even!). At this point, I got up to stretch my legs and couldn’t hold back my emotions. Not only was I up at 5am and sitting on a plane for 4 hours (and in an airport for 3), but I have a congested sinuses, AND would most likely be missing my cousin’s one day with me before he heads off to the Rose Bowl. I cried, not caring who saw me or what they thought. Luckily, a nice French steward saw that I was upset, and offered me reassurance that I would get to London today, and if not to Detroit then at least put up in a hotel by BA, and some water.

Feeling refreshed I went back to my seat, and let McDreamy comfort me through half an episode of Grey’s that I had already watched 3 times….it was wonderful. 20 minutes later the captain buzzed. I braced for the worse, mentally preparing myself to………………

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This was as far as I got that fateful December day, going crazy on a tin can also known as an A-380 airbus. I finally made it home (though had to spend the night in London before eventually making it out), and got to spend the most wonderful, albeit fastest ever 3 weeks at home with my family.

Funny thing is, although I’ve left my life and everyone in it behind for nearly a half of a year, nothing has really changed. Hell, even dirty laundry I didn’t have to time to put through the wash before I left was still laying in a dejected, crumpled pile in my laundry basket! In a way, I feel like the day I left was freeze-framed, and although life continued on after my august departure, the second I stepped out of baggage claim and into my dad’s arms, the “play” button was hit, my frame animated, and my life back to how it was.

And falling back into a routine at home was no problem. There was months of TV to catch up on, sleeping-in to be done, and lots of catching up with the people who matter most in my life. Full advantage was taken of all things pas disponsible en Suisse: non-$15 drinks, vodka & tonics/rum an diets, garbage disposals, proper shopping malls with normal prices, non-disgusting vanilla soymilk, quarters/beer-pong, large roads, freedom of movement (a car!), and streets where you can actually see the houses, not just dreary grey concrete gates encircling the property.

Going out to eat, one of my favorite activities and something I have only done maybe twice since I’ve been in Geneva, was fully enjoyed and done at least 3 times a week. I visited Ann Arbor, almost crying on the ascent up main street into the beautiful, spacious downtown of my alma mater, and spent the night drinking cheap beer out of a pitcher, singing along to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in a tipsy haze.

But the nights that meant everything were spent doing nothing. Sitting on my couch with my twin bestest friends, sipping champagne, watching Sex & the City OnDemand. Trying to steal a quick look at an IM conversation that made one of them giggle, curious whether it was genuine humor or literary dirty talk. Listening to my cousins and my best guy friend discuss (for the millionth time) Lance’s V02 max, who has the lowest resting heart rate, and what the optimal body fat percentage is for maximum performance in triathlons or cycling.

3 weeks felt like 3 days, and before I knew it I was packing my pink suitcase with my new Christmas presents and heading back à Genève. My dad thought it would be better leaving this time; at least I knew I had a nice place to go back to, and knew for sure I wouldn’t be locked in someone’s basement, forced to smoosh grapes with my feet (à la Bart in the exchange student episode). And while this time I didn’t ball my eyes out while stepping through security (saved them for the bumpy take off and turbulence over the Atlantic), I’ve felt caught in a melancholic doldrums ever since I set off for Au pair-ing, round two. Somehow already knowing the routine, the days consisting of porridge-making, blank space, ABC’s, and baths, makes the last 6 months seem nearly as daunting as when I first set out for the year.

No one can believe when I say it, but I can’t wait to get out there and have my first job. I’m sure in a year, when I’m up at 6 and not home til’ God knows when, I’ll look back fondly on my days of being a glorified babysitter, and pine (briefly) for the relaxed lifestyle and free time. But I’ll remember the gaping void of unstructured time everyday, and be thankful for the jam-packed days, stress, and intellectual stimulation.

Of course I want to enjoy the rest of my time here, to travel to new places and enjoy the sweet little monsters. But I also wish that the time passes like it did during Christmas vacation; that the moment when I got off the plane seemingly folds to the moment when I got back on, folding the time and memories in a perfect crease, causing a wrinkle in time and making it fly.