"Ask a glass of water."
"What is so unpleasant about being drunk?"
Except I wasn't drunk, just fatigued.
Er, I'm going about this all wrong.
Lessee. On Saturday, London was quite interesting, if a bit wet at the end of the day. Had a nice time exploring, seeing a city I'd never really seen before. Had a nice lunch, saw the new Star Trek movie, experienced what I assume is a typical pub, and crashed early to be up with the dawn patrol Sunday - which I could have avoided if I'd realized that setting my alarm for 5am didn't matter if I couldn't check out until 8. The "traditional English breakfast" was also at 8, but my flight was scheduled for 12:10, so I skipped that, checked out as soon as reception opened, and caught the Underground line to Heathrow, judging that three and a half hours would give me sufficient buffer time for check-in and security. With no track work, it turned out the train took an hour, and half an hour after that, I was through check-in, passport control, and security, and having a bite that I figured I'd call an early brunch.
Delays with the incoming flight pushed back departure, so we were on the ground a little late, getting me back home somewhere between 8 and 9 in the evening, with a workday staring me in the face the next morning.
And from then to now, I haven't gotten one solid night's sleep.
Even better? Friday morning (today), I had my annual thoracic MRI.
Scheduled for 06:45.
As in A.M. As in my phone alarm was set for five o'clock in the morning. And I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the clock reading 1:30. And 4:00.
I distinctly remember going into a semi-dream state in the MRI imaging chamber. This wasn't one of those open-air machines; it was a closed-bore system, like being loaded into a torpedo tube ... not that I really noticed. In past years, I'd close my eyes and picture myself elsewhere; this time, my eyes wouldn't have stayed open if I'd wanted them to.
Claustrophobic? Loud? Pfft. I've slept in coach class on Tower Air going transatlantic, when they packed people into sardines for a nine-hour flight. The MRI didn't even last one hour.
After which, it was back to the apartment, then off to work. For what it's worth, because throughout the morning, I was nursing a splitting headache and dragging my feet - not metaphorically, but literally having trouble lifting my feet when walking. The last time I remember that happening, I was in the army.
Thank the FSM it's Friday, and I can spend the weekend recovering. And hopefully kicking the jet lag.
This entry is cross-posted from http://bktheirregular.dreamwidth.org/580325.html. Feel free to comment here, or on Dreamwidth using OpenID (
comments).
Except I wasn't drunk, just fatigued.
Er, I'm going about this all wrong.
Lessee. On Saturday, London was quite interesting, if a bit wet at the end of the day. Had a nice time exploring, seeing a city I'd never really seen before. Had a nice lunch, saw the new Star Trek movie, experienced what I assume is a typical pub, and crashed early to be up with the dawn patrol Sunday - which I could have avoided if I'd realized that setting my alarm for 5am didn't matter if I couldn't check out until 8. The "traditional English breakfast" was also at 8, but my flight was scheduled for 12:10, so I skipped that, checked out as soon as reception opened, and caught the Underground line to Heathrow, judging that three and a half hours would give me sufficient buffer time for check-in and security. With no track work, it turned out the train took an hour, and half an hour after that, I was through check-in, passport control, and security, and having a bite that I figured I'd call an early brunch.
Delays with the incoming flight pushed back departure, so we were on the ground a little late, getting me back home somewhere between 8 and 9 in the evening, with a workday staring me in the face the next morning.
And from then to now, I haven't gotten one solid night's sleep.
Even better? Friday morning (today), I had my annual thoracic MRI.
Scheduled for 06:45.
As in A.M. As in my phone alarm was set for five o'clock in the morning. And I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the clock reading 1:30. And 4:00.
I distinctly remember going into a semi-dream state in the MRI imaging chamber. This wasn't one of those open-air machines; it was a closed-bore system, like being loaded into a torpedo tube ... not that I really noticed. In past years, I'd close my eyes and picture myself elsewhere; this time, my eyes wouldn't have stayed open if I'd wanted them to.
Claustrophobic? Loud? Pfft. I've slept in coach class on Tower Air going transatlantic, when they packed people into sardines for a nine-hour flight. The MRI didn't even last one hour.
After which, it was back to the apartment, then off to work. For what it's worth, because throughout the morning, I was nursing a splitting headache and dragging my feet - not metaphorically, but literally having trouble lifting my feet when walking. The last time I remember that happening, I was in the army.
Thank the FSM it's Friday, and I can spend the weekend recovering. And hopefully kicking the jet lag.
This entry is cross-posted from http://bktheirregular.dreamwidth.org/580325.html. Feel free to comment here, or on Dreamwidth using OpenID (
comments).