I feel like a ghost in the Henderson house. Only running on two hours of sleep, I creep upstairs, playing musical light switches and trying to guess which switch leads to which ceiling fixture. I flinch at the scraping of a dining room chair as I try to take a seat to eat my banana. It's 3am...Devil's hour. Thankfully, I hear Kim's alarm go off faintly down the hall. I quietly munch on my banana and listen to the wind howl and the house creak from time to time.
I am nervous beyond words. What is to come in the next--I try to calculate hours in my head. Four hours and I'll be in Chicago. Six hours to kill during a layover. Sixteen hours of airplane glory until Hong Kong(that's when I plan to sleep; we'll see if I last that long.) Then, a couple more hours and I get to crash in a hotel room in Hong Kong. It's a crazy thought for this small town girl, where the farthest west she'd been was Washington and the farthest east was Washington DC.
But to calculate the hours, that's twenty-six plus between me and a good (questionable) solid bed. My body's never functioned well on little sleep; I've pulled a one-nighter once. We'll see how I come terms with exhaustion, time change, meclizine....
The flight from Sioux Falls to Chicago was bad. I was fine, until turbulence hit; then, I broke out in a cold sweat, shakes, and eventually threw up.
Six hour layovers go longer when you're recovering from motion sickness. I didn't get my appetite back until about two hours before the flight left. I put on a scopolamine patch, took half a meclizine and ended up just fine.
The plane ride from Chicago to Hong Kong was sixteen hours and I either zoned out, slept, or talked to the Vietnamese lady beside me. After only four hours on the plane, I was done. The cool thing about the flight is they serve cranberry juice and the flight instructions are trilingual one person speaks in English, another in Cantonese, and another in Mandarin. I find it fascinating for some reason.
The two Vietnamese who sat in my row talked mostly among themselves. One was the middle-aged lady who had a mix-up with her flight to Vietnam. She was constantly worried about her adult son and constantly looked over at him, two aisles over. The other Vietnamese is a young man who offered me these cookie/pastry/sweet things. I feel like I shouldn't have declined, but at that moment I didn't know where my stomach would be at. But my stomach was fine as I scarfed down all the airplane food and continued in and out of consciousness.
I am nervous beyond words. What is to come in the next--I try to calculate hours in my head. Four hours and I'll be in Chicago. Six hours to kill during a layover. Sixteen hours of airplane glory until Hong Kong(that's when I plan to sleep; we'll see if I last that long.) Then, a couple more hours and I get to crash in a hotel room in Hong Kong. It's a crazy thought for this small town girl, where the farthest west she'd been was Washington and the farthest east was Washington DC.
But to calculate the hours, that's twenty-six plus between me and a good (questionable) solid bed. My body's never functioned well on little sleep; I've pulled a one-nighter once. We'll see how I come terms with exhaustion, time change, meclizine....
The flight from Sioux Falls to Chicago was bad. I was fine, until turbulence hit; then, I broke out in a cold sweat, shakes, and eventually threw up.
Six hour layovers go longer when you're recovering from motion sickness. I didn't get my appetite back until about two hours before the flight left. I put on a scopolamine patch, took half a meclizine and ended up just fine.
The plane ride from Chicago to Hong Kong was sixteen hours and I either zoned out, slept, or talked to the Vietnamese lady beside me. After only four hours on the plane, I was done. The cool thing about the flight is they serve cranberry juice and the flight instructions are trilingual one person speaks in English, another in Cantonese, and another in Mandarin. I find it fascinating for some reason.
The two Vietnamese who sat in my row talked mostly among themselves. One was the middle-aged lady who had a mix-up with her flight to Vietnam. She was constantly worried about her adult son and constantly looked over at him, two aisles over. The other Vietnamese is a young man who offered me these cookie/pastry/sweet things. I feel like I shouldn't have declined, but at that moment I didn't know where my stomach would be at. But my stomach was fine as I scarfed down all the airplane food and continued in and out of consciousness.
--Kylee
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