Ahem. “Jetlagged.” Yes.

(For those of you NOT in attendance just before my Monday 2.45 class: as I was telling this story of the sofa to Liz, the early-arrival variceles zoster in my brain prompted me to say that I’d been “so hung-over” that I’d have slept anywhere… and of course to say it loudly, at precisely the moment when the other conversations in the room hit a lull.

I stand by the Freudian slip, however. What’s the problem when you’re hung-over? You’re suffering from acute dehydration and a failure to sleep when you ought to have. And what happens to you on that trans-Atlantic flight? You become acutely dehydrated and fail to sleep when you ought to have.

Right?

Right…?