The price of change

1:04AM this morning. I awake from my light slumber to the crackle of thunder. I think "Oh, shit, why didn't the weather radio go off?" (we have an alarm-based weather radio that chirps to life with the most horrific chime sound in case of severe weather), and roll over and realize the object I was holding in my arms was not my wife, but a pillow (something I do when alone in bed). OK, where is Jessie? If it is thundering out, and she's downstairs, I'm surprised she hasn't come up yet. I look around the dark room, and make out a few familiar shapes -- the picture of Camden harbor, the entrance to our bathroom, and my dresser -- and try and ascertain where the hell Jessie is. I think, wait, call her! (We do this sometimes, especially when she lets me sleep in on a Saturday)

I roll over and smack my hand on the bedside table -- whirr, I don't have a bedside table -- and knock the phone to the floor -- whirr, I don't have a desk phone in my bedroom. Oh, shit, I"m in a hotel. Where am I again? Oh, Ohio. Fuck.

We've moved a fair amount in the past year. One year ago today, I was in a Richmond, VA hotel with my home in Uxbridge, MA. Six months ago (to the day), I was in a London, England hotel with my home in Springboro, OH. Today, I'm in a Miamisburg, OH hotel with my home in Glen Allen, VA.

In each home, I've slept on the same side of the bed -- the left side, if you are looking at the headboard from the footboard. Most hotels have king size beds, and I generally sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door (as most hotel rooms are L shaped, with the bed occupying the foot of the L). Some nights, this is the left side, other nights, the right; the only time I sleep opposite of the door side is when Jessie is in bed with me, and it's a right-side-door room.

Last night was a "left side" room; with a balcony that had a door on the left side of the wall (from my perspective, the same location as our bathroom in Glen Allen), a small table in front of the big window (which looked like my dresser, in the same location as my dresser in Springboro), and a framed picture on the left wall (that was in the same location on the wall as the picture frame was in our house in Uxbridge).

My brain had assessed "home" out of an amalgam of a pillow next to me in bed (my surrogate wife, much to the chagrin of underemployed hotel cleaning staff), a sliding glass window to a balcony, a picture frame on the wall, and a small desk like object that resembled a dresser. I was awake for the next two hours thinking about that. This is the fourth or fifth time that I can remember, that when in a left side room, I've awoken in the middle of the night without the slightest fucking clue where I am or where my wife is. It happened in London to particularly bad results, where I thought for a solid 5 minutes that the massive pile of pillows next to me was my lifeless wife. Or, when it happened in Virginia once and I nearly melted down, unable to reach anyone and convinced that this was either a horrific nightmare or that everyone had left me. (My nightmares are particularly realistic and vivid)

I guess that is the price of change.