a handful of miles high to be exact...

36,131 feet over Nebraska

Al Franken’s book is turning out to be a real page turner. I don’t care if what he’s saying is true or not; it’s getting my ire up and making me laugh, so that’s all that really matters. I’m significantly entertained. It’s 2:15am according to my computer’s clock, so I’m guessing there’s another two-plus hours to go. I’d read some more but, I was the only person on the plane with the reading light on, and I felt really guilty about it.

I just can’t sleep on planes. It’s not the most comfortable environment to begin with; I’m amazed I’m able to type. The reclining action on these seats isn’t anything to write about (ho ho), and there’s not that much room to spread out. But more importantly, I’m under the unfounded belief that somehow, it is by my will alone that keeps the plane from crashing. Sleeping would only let my guard down and lead not only to my death, but the death of these fine people who are flying with me. And I can’t let them down, now can I? I’d be a murderer seeing as I have the ultimate power over whether we all arrive at our destination safely. It’s a big burden to bear, but I guess I’m up to the task. Really, I have to be.

There was one exception, however [this addendum written at my parents' home]. I had the whole row to myself on one flight, the smoothest flight I could remember. It was a red eye, and I think I'd missed the plane I was supposed to take. I was heading back to New York from California, it must have been off season. I watched some DirecTV and eventually became rather sleepy. If I did miss my first flight, I must have spent most of the day at the airport and was pretty damn tired as a result. I propped up a couple of flimsy plane pillows and shrouded myself in a flimsy plane blanket and stretched out across all three seats. No seat belt, no turbulence. I think I slept the majority of the flight. I believe the flight attendant woke me up. I buckled up and prepared for landing.

The landing was perfect, not even a bounce, like we had found purchase on a feathered bed. Maybe I should pass out on the plane more often.