For over a week after I returned from Hawaii, I was still on "Hawaiian Time." Literally and figuratively. Literally because I suffered from some serious jet lag that even some dark chocolate covered Kona coffee beans couldn't cure. Figuratively because I was just moving slower. In North Carolina (and elsewhere I'm sure) we call it "island time." You've probably seen those little hand-painted wooden signs that proclaim "I'm on Island Time!" with a martini glass or pineapple or sandals decorating the sign. They hang in vacation rental homes clustered on sunny beaches around the world. In Hawaii, they just call it "Hawaiian Time." Ask an islander an ETA they'll say "a Hawaiian fifteen minutes" and when you find yourself waiting an immeasurably long period of time you'll learn exactly what that means (hint: it's kinda like how long it takes me to get a blog post up!)
Yeah, I'm still on Hawaiian time.