Liminal living

The alarm rings and without thinking I fling out my arm to turn it off, but my arm swings through empty space, unable to locate the alarm clock that ought to be sitting on the nightstand that isn't next to the bed. Either I'm caught in a bizarre nightmare in which my bedroom furniture has dissolved and my bed is flying through empty space or else I've forgotten that I'm in Jackson.

At home, the alarm clock is next to my head; in Jackson, it's on the other side of the room. 

Sure enough, I've lost track of which house I'm sleeping in. Awake, I know where I am; asleep, I don't care. It's the in-between state that confuses me.

It's not easy to get used to living in two houses, especially when I've lived in one long enough that it inhabits my dreams. At home, I can wander around in the dark, confident in my internal map of my surroundings; in Jackson, I still have trouble finding things even when the lights are on. And then there are gaps in my knowledge: I haven't set foot in the basement yet and I've heard that the attic is nice but I haven't found any reason to go there. 

And every time I think I'm done buying things, I discover another gap: Where are the cookie sheets? How can I drain pasta without a colander? How can we eat all this marvelous sweet corn without corn-grabbers? 

I remind myself that new students will soon be enduring fall orientation, when they learn what they need to know to shift from one mode of living to another, but the transition isn't instant. They'll spend a fluid amount of time in a semi-disoriented state, not sure how to find their classes or when to eat or where to find books. It's impossible to put a finger on the exact moment when they're fully oriented to their situation, but they'll know it when it happens.

At those in-between moments when I'm not sure where I am and I can't find the alarm clock, there's one sure cure for my disorientation: just swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to find the floor. The bed in Jackson is significantly taller than the one at home, so by the time my feet find firm ground, I know where I am--and if I can't find the floor at all, I'll know it's time to roll over and keep dreaming.