It's been pretty hard to write, or even think about writing. In a way I wish I had documented my re-entry, but in a way I really couldn't have. My last few days in Russia, I remember feeling like I was parachuting back into my own culture again, and I could see the ground rushing toward me and knew that when I landed the impact would leave me doing painful bumpy somersaults for a while. It's taken me about this long to come to a rest, dust myself off, and take stock of the damage. Nothing's broken, but I don't think I could have written when I was bouncing around. I don't know where my voice would have been coming from. I can't think of another way to put it.