Happy 2018 my avid readers. I had three quarters of a post written for today. But having just landed in San Francisco on my first trip of the year, I thought why not dabble in a little bit of the aftermath that is getting off a 12-hour flight, having worked through the night on two hours sleep.
First and foremost, I almost always feel as though I am rocking this tiredness thing. I’ve been awake all night having been nice to people. I can still be civil and I can still plaster a smile to my face with the occasional moment of genuine goodhearted amusement. I walk off that plane feeling ‘pretty okay’. I don’t need a sleep. I am going to hit the ground running; head to shops, do some exciting stuff. I mean, I am in San Francisco, one of the coolest cities I get to visit.
I arrive at my hotel, make some plans with my colleagues, head to my room, connect to WiFi and catch up on all I have missed over the last 14 or so hours. I then start to feel my body get comfortable as I lie on the bed scrolling through Instagram. Here is where I realise that I am definitely not feeling ‘pretty okay’. Here is where I have a very small window of opportunity. I can make the terrible (but sometimes necessary) decision to sleep now, without setting an alarm and just waking up when I wake up.
Or I soldier on. I get in that shower, I work out that I can sleep for exactly one hour and twenty seven minutes, I set a bloody alarm and get myself out of bed.
I drag myself kicking and screaming from bed, throw on some clothes, cover my pimples and meet my friends downstairs. Coffee is high on the agenda. We beeline for Starbucks. I curse myself for forgetting my KeepCup and order a flat white with coconut milk. Half way through my coffee I feel the tiredness kick in with the combined affect of the caffeine. It’s a feeling somewhat similar to being drunk, and its enough to keep me moving.
We walk in and out of a few shops. I buy things in my moderately-fatigued state, knowing that I’ll be questioning these decisions in the morning. Did I really, really need to buy that giant bag of marshmallows that I can guarantee I won’t be eating? No, probably not, but at the time it was the best idea I’ve ever had.
We go to Sephora; they’re playing ‘Killa’ by Cherish and I’m immediately brought back to my youth and feel invincible, despite moments earlier loudly claiming I was running on fumes. We move through Sephora in a wave of excitement. We spray our faces with every facial spray we come across and apply endless products to the backs of our hands. By the end of it we all smell of peach (thank you Too Faced) and the backs our hands have been sufficiently blurred.
Note to self: must buy more blurring primers. Preferably ones that smell like peach.
It’s now time for Trader Joe’s. Thankfully we have had some dinner by this point; a veggie Koja (a Korean/Japanese fusion burger with a bun made out of rice) so I wasn’t particularly hungry. I walked out 20 minutes later with an apple, almond toffee and a record low spend of $2.78, barely resembling the woman I used to be.
We make the 15-20 minute walk back up the very steep hill to our hotel. Stopping only to take the terrible picture featured above. It’s now been 25 hours since I signed onto work; ‘why do I do this?’ I ask myself.
We’re now up to the present, where I’ll have my second shower of the day, watch some Netflix and then sleep for 10-12 hours. I’ll wake up in the morning feeling refreshed and as I munch down my breakfast apple, will praise Past Anita for taking that five minutes to pick apple perfection. Ready to repeat for the journey home.