Let me tell you a little story about the zombiefication (it's my blog, I get to make up whatever words I want, so there) of Miss K. It all started on the 29th of December when I caught my red-eye flight from Toronto to Paris. Here's the thing: I can't sleep on planes. Ever. I am so wretchedly uncomfortable that it's impossible, no matter how tired I am - somehow it seems that my already-long legs grow an extra three inches, my already-bony knees expand to the size of watermelons, my already-broad shoulders increase to linebacker size, my already-long neck elongates so far that my skull dangles right off the back of the headrest, and I'm pretty sure I grow an extra arm from somewhere around my left shoulderblade. But one day, a friend of mine introduced me to sleeping pills and ahhhhh, sleep on a plane became possible (the first time it happened I was freaked: took off in Toronto, swallowed a pill and, like, five minutes later we were landing at Heathrow, it was like traveling through time!)
Anyway, all was going according to plan - got on the plane, ate my meal, washed my sleeping pill down with some red wine (yeah, I'm so rock'n'roll), put in my industrial-strength earplugs, put on my eye-mask and blanket, pretzeled all my extra limbs into the most comfortable position possible...and then the toddler in the row in front of me started to scream. And I mean the most bloodcurdling, earshattering scream ever in the history of the universe - my industrial-strength earplugs were no match for ol' Lungs McDecibelthroat. And he screamed all the way to Paris, I kid you not. And the reason I know this? Is because I was f*cking awake for the whole flight. Grrrrr doesn't even begin to cover it. But remember that sleeping pill I took? Well, the good people who invented Zopiclone were not messing around - the stuff works, especially when you combine it with fatigue and jetlag. So as soon as I got on the bus from the airport? Asleep. As soon as I walked from my stop to my apartment and got into my room? Asleep. Asleep for 14 hours, people!
But that worked well because it was New Year's Eve and I had a party to go to (which was fabulous and I had a great time and it totally took the bad mojo off the holiday for me, in case you were wondering), so I was absolutely fine to be awake until 6am and then to sleep off my monster hangover all day. But by this point, my poor body clock had no idea what timezone it was in, who the hell I am, or why it should cooperate with me in any way whatsoever. So I spent the last few nights tossing and turning (and cursing that toddler - if that's wrong and bad and mean, I'll just go ahead and add it to the very long list of things I'm already going to hell for) and not falling asleep until about 7am, which did not lead to productive days, I assure you. So last night I had to turn to those nice Zopiclone people again to force my body clock to get into the right timezone, and I finally got a decent night's sleep.
That's why you haven't heard from me for the past few days. I mean, I could have posted, but Zombie Miss K would have only written something like: oihgeo ihah daegfnq oen igei hfqek fnkavn dtler joarhe. So you really didn't miss much...