Day Seven (and Eight) of Twenty.
Tuesday began early. 5:15am to be exact. We drove back down from Humboldt on Monday and didn’t get into SF until 11pm. After packing, showering, and catching up on my William Wallace history with a little Braveheart, it was 3:30am when I finally passed out on the couch. That’s fine… we’ll just sleep on the plane. Yeah. Right.
Although we saw three celebrities (Al Bundy, the Indian Spike Lee, and my personal favorite, Jacob) we saw no shut eye on our leg from SFO to Los Angeles. But that’s fine…. we have a ten-hour flight ahead. We’ll just drink two $8 beers (plus tip, annoying), and round that off with two mini bottles of free vino courtesy of United Airlines and we should fall asleep just fine. Yeah. Right. The plane was so cramped, I felt like a vampire in a coffin. I was so claustrophobic that I almost slit my wrists. Not really… but I will not be sitting in the middle seat on the way back. How could I sleep when the guy in front of me reclined his chair into my vagina, the guy next to me thought he would use the precious space in my seat as elbow storage, and the lady behind me would grab the back of my chair and shake me like a baby every time she got up or adjusted herself??? If that wasn’t enough, every time my poor burning eyes would start to droop, Ruby would poke me in the arm. Nice. So I got maybe 20 minutes of sleep on the ten-hour plane ride.
We get to London Heathrow airport. It’s a fabulous place filled with “Toilet” signs (instead of bathroom) and scary nannies. Since we have a seven hour layover, we had planned to go into London for lunch. But like my husband, Ruby dashed my hopes when she said she was too tired to go. I should have went alone, but of course then I would have fallen asleep on the train, lost in a major metropolis. So we bummed around the airport with our luggage and our weary bodies. We snuck into the Sofitel Hotel’s bathroom and freshened up because someone (Mother Nature) decided at the last minute that she wanted to tag along for our trip. Thanks.
By the time we were boarding our flight to Edinburgh, Ruby and I were walking zombies, grumbling at each other and ready to eat people’s guts. I announced that I was going to bed AS SOON as we got to Mag’s place. I couldn’t go out and have fun. I was exhausted.
Day Seven (and Eight) of Twenty. Two days, 2 hours and 20 minutes of sleep. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to add up.