And so here I am in NYC, the city that never sleeps, a condition that must be contagious, because it's 1:15 a.m. and I'm wide awake. Hubby, on the other hand, is peacefully snoozing. Maybe I should wake him up to keep me company. No, I'll let him sleep - that's the kind of considerate gal I am. I should be exhausted after the long plane ride and battling the mass of humanity at the baggage "carousel" of non-progress. Round and round it goes, a circle game where every piece of luggage looks exactly the same.
Maybe I'll nod off before the sun comes up. That would be nice. Or maybe I'll drift off while window shopping. Of course, no one will bother to tell me I'm sleep-snoring. This is New York, after all.
I'd like to go on the record as saying that whoever invented the term jet lag definitely had the SJG in mind. If they held a Jet Laggers Olympics, as opposed to a Jet Setters Olympics, something I'd never qualify for, I'd enter the Kvetching Competition in a total daze, trip over myself at the finish line and still wouldn't know what time zone I'd just medaled in, heroically, on behalf of America.
I will now attempt to fall asleep again. Wish me luck. This may take a few hours.
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