Agonies of a Young Author

I used to be the type of person that could be incredibly productive on a plane. I could breeze through three or four books, especially on the longer international flights. Then books got difficult, so I could watch three or four movies and a couple of TV episodes.

Now? Now, I hardly pack anything for in-flight entertainment, because I know I will conk out like a bear going into hibernation before we even lift off. There is no productivity, there is no reading, there is no writing, there is only sleep.

Lots and lots of sleep.

I'm not sure why this always happens now- is it because I am usually coming out right after mid-terms or finals to go home for the holidays? Or because I am now traveling on my own, so I have to think (read: worry) about logistics like catching the shuttle and checking in and getting the right gate and all other travel sundries?

Anyways, on this trip I have brought several books and a blank journal. I delude myself that I am going to write on the plane- even drank two whole sups of coffee in hopes that it would stave off the cloud of oblivion that rests on my horizon. But the cloud is wide, and deep, and darker in color than I expected, and all the caffeine in the world might not be enough to break up the sleep seratonin raindrops.

And perhaps I will dream of my manuscript.

Right now:
Where I am located: probably somewhere mid-Atlantic (I scheduled this post-- aren't I clever?)
What I want most: sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep. lol