American Chica by Marie Arana

This passage perfectly describes how I feel when I'm deep in Bookworld and am called out of it:

When we'd walk in from school we'd see her reenter in stages: the chin up, the quick blink, the realization that we were standing before her, and then our mother descending the staircase of her mind, peering down at us from some far landing of consciousness. She was there, but she was somewhere else, too, like a lynx with his nose in the wind, sensing trails that could call her away.