Junk Food For Your Brain

You Little Blue Bastard

Sleeping on a plane is almost impossible.  Every Time I fall asleep, I wake up with horrible pain in my neck and back from being contorted in a very unnatural way for a man my size.

Currently, I’ve been on this plane to Salt Lake City for 3 hours and 45 minutes.  I took two Xanax as soon as the plane lifted up.  Fifteen minutes later I could feel myself slowing down and getting sleepy.  The prospect of sleeping for most of the plan ride made me extremely happy. I barely slept the night before and I was hoping to be well rested by the time I reached Utah. That wouldn’t be the case.

I first tried falling asleep with my body and head resting against the window (I was in the window seat).  Every time I would nod out for a few minutes, I would wake up with drool running down my face, horrible pain in my neck and complete numbness in my hands.  But I kept trying this position as it seemed to be the most promising for me, as I’ve slept this way on planes before.

After waking up every 15-20 minutes using the window-torture position,  as I like to call it, I knew I had to try other alternatives.  There was no one sitting into middle seat of my row.  I tried using that to my advantage by swinging my feet over to floor in front of the middle seat.  I angled myself diagonally in my seat allowing me to lay in a reclined position. This felt like it would be a winning position for me.  I was sure I would be putting my Xanax to good use. 

What I wasn’t prepared for was the immovable arm rest in my seat that I was forced to lay back on.  No matter how I positioned myself, I couldn’t escape the dirty bastard.  It was drilling into my ribs as if to say “fuck you Chris, you’re staying up and being as miserable as everyone else on this flight.”

It was like being woken up by setting your alarm clock to pain, then hitting snooze repeatedly. I was praying for those mythical extra couple of minutes of sleep that would make my day right.  I played this sadistic game for over 3 hours until I finally broke.

I could no longer attempt to sleep for 15-20 minutes at a time, wake up in pain, look for a new position and repeat the process. The airplane seats had won in a dominant fashion.  I could feel the hard, uncomfortable cushions shaming me. “Another sleepy prick is broken and will never get his way,” they cheered.  At least that’s how it felt.

I was defeated.  Fuck airplane seats.

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