There is that dream state of arrival back from vacation if I get home in time for it. If it's really late, then it doesn't happen. In that case I stay on autopilot -- get the bags in, find something to eat and fall into bed. But if it's not so late I find myself in that layered ethereal space between worlds. It's heavier than usual daily life, more poignant, less grounded. I am better able to remember earlier and imagine future versions of myself. They accompany me in that strange in-between space that is mostly in my own head, before checking the news or email, before letting anyone know we are here. That makes it feel like I'm not quite here, certainly not part of this scene. The city itself takes on a muted quality before I run into anyone I know and the apartment feels like more of a cocoon, the way it used to. By early morning, the usual gears will click back into motion, and that will change.