Last night was a rough night.
The flight from New York to Accra, Ghana was 10 hours long and it left at 1:00 am.
The plane was larger than most I have been on, but that didn’t mean there was any extra leg room.
I took my contacts out immediately and grabbed my travel pillow and the blanket provided by Delta and determined to get comfy.
It was impossible. I would doze for about 10 minutes at a time. All told, I maybe got 20 or so short naps last night – but no real sleep.
And although I never fell asleep deeply enough to have a dream, I did have bizarre random thoughts throughout the night. I don’t remember most, but in one I suddenly felt bad for leaving a large container of baked beans in the back of our van parked in the driveway there in Columbus. “I better remember to tell Melissa to get those beans out of the van because three weeks from now they will be smelling pretty nasty.”
There isn’t a single baked bean in the back of that van.
And unlike dreams, these little fevered thoughts were intermixed with a soundtrack throughout the night.
But it was one song, over and over: The B-52s “Dance This Mess Around”.
Oh, everybody goes to parties
They dance this mess around
They do all sixteen dances
They do the Shu ga loo, do the Shy Tuna
Do the Camel Walk, do the Hip O Crit
Ah, hippy, hippy forward hippy, hippy
Hippy, hippy, hippy shake
Oh, it’s time to do ’em right
Last night was a rough night.
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