Turning on my side for what seems like the 10th time, I try to wiggle into a comfortable position. But it's no use, I'm not ready to surrender. In my mind I lift my head, peer past the pile of half-read books, and peek at the green neon digits on the clock. It must be well into the night by now. But my eyes are heavy and the connection between mind and movement doesn't happen.
The cold doesn't help. Forced to breathe through my mouth, my lips feel like sticky flannel and there is an undeniable trace of soreness in my throat when I swallow. What time IS it? My head still doesn't move. It stays still on the pillow. Instead my brain makes a running leap out of my body and starts doing laps around the room, bumping into my cream coloured walls and crashing into the walnut dresser.
Shit. I forgot to go through all the mail. I wonder if Emily's ENT appointment came through. Why didn't I just plough through and unpack ALL the suitcases. I don't remember seeing the High School Musical 3 DVD, I wonder if I packed it. That's sharp! Is that what the dentist was talking about?
Gurgle, gurlge, spurt, spurt, pop. Did I leave the heating on?
How can he sleep through all this?!
OK, I'll look.
11.30 pm.
You're joking.
Jet lag is hell.
Photo credit: serhio
