Last week all the news stations were barking about explosives being found on airlines flying to Russia. Of course, we were all warned to be vigilant-why, I don't know, because if someone wants to blow up a plane, they will find a way. Explosives in a tube of toothpaste: how novel. I wonder which brand they used (my mind works that way. Was it Colgate? Hmmm...).
All this bruhaha began just as I was packing to fly over to see my sister. That didn't give me a lot of confidence, as I stared at my tube of Colgate before packing it. On the way to Heathrow Airport, it also occurred to me that I still haven't written a will. Oops-too late now!
I went through all the performance of going to the hospital and having a big dose of intravenous immunoglobulin to get me through the holiday, since I really didn't feel like carrying all the bottles of antibodies and the associated equipment with me. As it is, I felt like a Sherpa: my backpack was so heavy I had trouble standing upright!
Well. The journey over was okay, except for the fact that I was unable to get a direct, non-stop flight, so flew into Atlanta and had to wait for the connection. The whole journey took fourteen hours. Perhaps I should have walked.
Now, both flights were absolutely full-everyone wanted to get out of the cold, grey British climate and head for sun and sand - understandably - so I felt a bit like a sardine. And airline food-well, it's pretty dire going from the UK, although I have found it better going in the other direction. Nevertheless, I ended up farting my way across the Atlantic. Fortunately, I didn't have a single SBD (silent but deadly); if I'd had the misfortune to have a stinky one, I would have put on an Academy Award winning performance, pretended outrage, and blamed someone else.
That is what happens when you fly: always blame the other guy!
So I am here at Jessica's, the weather is glorious, I've been working on turning the color of a tomato, and I am incredibly jet lagged. Some people never get jet lagged at all (I don't know anyone like that, but if I did, I certainly wouldn't like them), and some (like me) get hit both ways. I got in on Thursday night, it is now Monday afternoon and my stomach is still somewhere around 30,000 feet. So is my brain. My body is here, but the rest of me is AWOL. I'm amazed I can stand upright (ish).
I did some research on Google before I left. I wanted to know if there is a real cure for jet lag (there isn't). I also wondered how long it is supposed to last. And here is what I discovered.
Jet lag lasts one day for every hour of time zones crossed. So, London to New York is a five hour difference, and theoretically jet lag should only last five days. Theoretically indeed! We'll see. And that kills the idea of going abroad for a week, doesn't it?
Jet lag is also supposed to be worse in one direction than the other-allegedly. Like I can tell the difference when I land either way and feel like I am in an induced coma. Where am I? Who am I?
What I want to know is this: when do we start counting? Do we start on the day (and time) we take off, or do we start on the day we land? What if we land in the late afternoon? Does that count as one day, or do we start on the next day?
Seriously, this is very important. I left my house at 5am on Thursday (making myself very popular with my friend, who is apartment-sitting while I am gone), arrived in Orlando at 5:45pm local time (10:45pm UK time), and have been comatose ever since. Do I count Thursday as day 1? Somehow I don't think so. I think I start counting from Friday-which means that tomorrow sometime I should be functional in this time zone. Allegedly.
This is really important. Enquiring minds need to know the correct answer. Meanwhile, I am concentrating on staying upright and not getting run over.
It's all going great so far. My sister loves to cook-and I love to eat-so what more can anyone say? (How about, yippee, I'm home).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment