Have you seen me? Where was I?

I nearly bumped into her. Thirties, maybe. Or forties. Tattoos on her arms. She was coming out of a Pilates class; I was headed into yoga. "Didn't I see you last night?" she asked.

"Uh...I don't think so," I said.

"Where were you at 5:30?" She was accusing. Almost teasing.

"Uh...in my kitchen." Her brow furrowed, she tilted her head, smiled.

"Well, you missed a lot of fun," she said. I watched her as she clutched her exercise mat and walked toward the stairs. I unfurled my yoga mat, re-playing yesterday. My kitchen. My mother with her martini. Me, fresh  from a nap because I'd drunk half a bottle of wine with the financial guy at lunch. For dinner I'd popped a frozen pizza into the oven, sliced a tomato. Later that night I'd sat in my living room in the dark sipping on bubbly water, tapping this and that on the iPad.

When I awoke this morning, I had that traveling feeling. Like I'd been somewhere. 

The wind is having its way with us again today. There's been only a few hours of respite this past week. I'm edgy. Nerves jangling like the neighbor's wind chimes. Brain pondering space/time continuums. My hair looking like I might well have slept on someone's floor next to pile of empty beer bottles and forgotten all about it.