Wet Dreams and Sleepless Nights

It was not the night to sleep. It was horrible and embarrassing. I woke up with warm liquid running down my leg. I could believe it. I can’t remember doing this, even when I was a kid. And then I realized that I’m not in bed, but in an airplane seat. How can I get a change of clothes out of the overhead bin and get to the bathroom and not look foolish to those who are not asleep. Then, in my stupor, I realize it’s not warm liquid, it’s hot. It's burning hot. And the guy next to me is apologizing and wiping my leg with a napkin. He’d fallen asleep with his coffee cup in hand and has spilled it over his shirt and my left leg. I look out the window; dawn is just break at thirty-some thousand feet. So much for my hour and a half additional sleep on the leg to Atlanta. We talk the rest of the way. He’s humbled, and seems to be a good guy.  We laugh at his starched white dress shirt with a brown stain on it. I’m causal; my dockers will go into the washing machine. He has a meeting and will probably be paying way too much for a new shirt at the Brooks Brother store in the airport.

That wasn’t my first rude awakening of the night. My first occurred when the alarm went off at 4 PM. Sleep, I suppose, is over-rated.

I’m in North Carolina for a few days. I’ll try to get around to some blogs occasionally, but I have to hunt down a wi-fi connection (or use my Blackberry, which just isn’t fun for blog reading). This is the month for travel. It's starting with me checking in on my parents.