It’s approaching Midnight and I’m on my way up to the Rio’s spectacular Voodoo Lounge (a location which relies on nothing more than the magnificent Las Vegas skyline view – it really doesn’t require anything else).
Whilst peering blissfully into the sumptuous blend of comforting darkness and a beautiful sprinkling of glowing Vegas lights, I contemplate the difficult decision that lies ahead – do I take the sensible option and hit the hay in preparation for the following morning’s flight back to London, or, at a pinch, do I stay here, overly priced, but ultimately delicious cocktail in hand, and continue to glare deep into the Vegas night, body and mind simultaneously at ease with the world?
Well, I didn’t dwell for too long and swiftly opted for the ‘stay up throughout the night and sleep on the plane’ option. Now, whilst this seemed like a sound and relatively unproblematic idea at first, it has utlimately turned out to be somewhat of a faux-pas.
After trundling through the airport with my eyelid muscles begging for a day-off, I finally managed to get 40 winks on the plane. Well, it was more of a sporadic and constantly interrupted snooze really – as we all know, unless you’re Sretch Armstrong, you’re never truly going to be too comfy in Economy class. (Where do they get those bloomin cushions from?!)
On arrival, I was sure I’d managed a few hours of sleep, but wasn’t 100%. I’d hoped for more and, seeing as though it was now early morning (UK time), I’d somehow managed to miss two nights’ kip. (This timezone change thingy majiggy is a weird thing, huh?)
As soon as we got back to Jen’s flat, I lasted about two whole minutes before I completely conked out. I was determined to last the day so I could hit the sack at a ‘normal’ hour and get back into a 'normal' cycle so I could return to my 'normal' daily life, but my body had other ideas. 8 hours later, and I was back up. Well slept, refreshed, and ready to get back to normal, or so I thought…
From then on, it’s been a tough four or five days. I’ve been waking up at bizzare hours and continually collapsing during the days. I feel like a narcoleptic, feeling completely shattered all of a sudden and being forced to go for a nap. Now I know how old people feel!
Well, whatever I seem to do, whether I try and stay awake or just hit the sack for a few hours, I can’t seem to get rid of this frustrating pattern of lethargy. I continuously feel tired and sleepy, and it’s really annoying to be in a constant state of somnolism.
I’d always snickered somewhat at those who moaned about jet-lag, never fully understanding or acknowledging its effects. But now I’m on the other end of it, I can appreciate how difficult it can be to get back into the swing of things.
Maybe my body is just having difficulty reaccustoming itself to London time, or perhaps it’s an adrenalin come down - I did have a corking non-stop time in Vegas. It might even be God’s way of punishing me for having too much fun over there, a bit of a Ying and Yang approach, you never know!
Either way, I’m tired of being tired and I hope my body recovers soon, because I’m dying to last a day without sleeping on the tube, napping at Noon, or failing to get through a single film. Hold on, gotta go, I need another nap. Nighty nig… clonk, zzzzz…