Re-Entry Shock

Candles are lit, bubbles abound and a glass of California white cushions my carcas. The winds are blowing like crazy but my little home is warm with Christmas bacchanalia. Never did I have the time or patience for a good soaking, but four years into owning a garden tub, I'm finally getting my moneys worth. Any good workaholic will tell you that there are better ways to manage time than relaxing in a tub. I've argued against super-ego pleasures like spas and massages for years...then I came to my senses 4 days ago. After bracing myself upright against a cold metal bar in a space no bigger than a Japanese Capsule Hotel (they do exist) and taking Navy showers to conserve water, well, it sure feels great to be on stable turf again. The Sunday New York Times lets me escape reality but not long enough. All safe and sound in a bubble bath, I'm tossed back into some of the places I just came from: the Amazon where record droughts threaten my friends homes; Baghdad, where bombs rock my stepbrother's bed and Venezuela, where Hugo Chávez just gave billions to help the Bronx. Is this what they call reverse culture shock or re-entry shock? Coping in a land of cushiness amidst chaos? Enjoying a little R&R with a guilty conscience? Whatever it is, I hope it's short-lived, this much time on my hands in bath can waterlog my restless feet.