29? Not 92?

So after twenty-nine hours from one airport to another, another, another, it turns out I just can't sleep on a plane. Have now awoken after about four hours since eating/showering/fading-out-mid-Buffy-episode and have every intention of drinking some water and sleeping some more. Like until Sunday unless Jill goes into labour. More when less demented.

This is your brain on 29 hours at 40000 feet

Seeking things to do during the many hours of flight, a few pages of my notebook were filled up with observations.

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