This morning I woke up twice thinking, Where am I? The surrounding room looked unfamiliar to my sleep laced eyes and I couldn't for the life of me remember the events of the last few days that would have led me to this place.

Oh. It's my room. I'm home. I laugh to myself and fall back asleep only to repeat the experience a few hours later.

I've had this same experience every place I've been over the past three weeks. For some reason, not remembering where you are when you wake up is jarring, and the number of times it has happened to me recently is disturbing. It's making me wonder if there's a bigger issue underneath it all; if all this traveling is beginning to make me crazy only I don't recognize it yet.

I'm waiting in suspense. What is the psychological impact of traveling, speaking, being consistently mildly stressed out, meeting billions of people and scheming of ways to change the world?

I'm going to find out soon I think.