Traveling has introduced me to a new level of fatigue that I was not aware existed.
I'm in Charles De Gaulle airport. It's 9:13am Paris time and I've been trying to sleep on the row of chairs behind me since my arrival at 6:30. I didn't get a damn wink of it on the 8 hour flight. I had a very sweet seatmate but she liked to talk, and after three vodkas on the rocks she was all elbows. I've never had a person manage to grind their elbow into my hip socket from the other side of the armrest. Until last night, that is. I closed my eyes, counted sheep, and quietly envied every single person in business class.
With two hours left on the plane and not a single rapid eye movement to my name, I gave up and watched August: Osage County(intense/exceptional movie). I'll sleep at the airport, I thought to myself.
Ha ha and ha. Right now I've given up so I'm drinking an espresso, ordered in my rusty, rusty French.
One highlight: my 70 year old seat mate watching the film Flex Is Kings with me and loving it. She's probably in Italy by now, her final destination. I will always think of her slowly raising her arms in attempt to dance and wiggle limbs like the dancers on the screen.
By the way, watch Flex is Kings.
But hey, duty free! Caffeine coursing through veins! Free wi-fi! And only 8ish hours til my love's arms. I'm on my way.