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Flight preponement is not a common occurence or a word for that matter. So when my flight got preponed by 2 hours, I was mildly annoyed. Now my travel will eat into my work day. I'll leave home, sleepy after my heavy last family meal (for a while). Nothing that a strong coffee cant stall. 

What sheds new light on this preponement is that I havent booked a 7.40pm flight. My 7.40AM flight is now a 5.40AM flight. That means I leave home by 3.30am, mince I wake up at 3am. 

So obviously, we dont sleep. 

The night is spent watching Aaron Sorkin, between his ummms.. and aaa...s, extol the values needed for screenwriting. Two doobies are also needed to keep the mind in limbo. 

Finally, its time to begin the journey. My consciousness veers between hyper awareness and stone cold drop dead sleep. The airport is alive as any other hour of the day. The gentile is a mix of working professionals who couldnt be bothered to read the difference between an AM and PM and labourers, both who's bosses need them back to work at the crack of dawn. Working class heroes my Astrix and Obleix. 

My confusing consiousness only causes one issue. And for quite a while, confounds me. As im handed the protective gear on entering my plane, mine has a blue film on it. Now either this airline cares a lot about our smart phone usage (but clearly not about red eyed flights) and the protective gear is just a given. Like how as a kid you have no control over your clothing sense and protective gear. You could be made into a laddoo of clothes just so you dont come back to your maternal side with the nosey running. (Paternal sides always appear more gung-ho in their approach to life. More baniyan and pyjama. Mine atleast.)

But Im convinced this is a mix up, my gear is faulty. So I press the assistance button overhead and wait. After a long period of everything looking like a BP (blue picture, slang for the nudy films), an attendant arrives to hear my grievance. In the time that I waited peering through the BP, I have already come up with a solution so that no more time is wasted. I ask him to change my faulty gear. He explains something but I only follow his hands peeling off a blue film from my blue visor. Words are exhausting. I manage to utter an "Oh" that expresses surprise, delight and apologies towards the obvious-ity of it all. 

I quickly snap back the visor which is now a lighter shade of blue. 

I press the assistance button again and the process repeats. I dont recall mustering an Oh this time when the attendant peels off the second layer of BP. If I would have pressed the button once more before take off, I'm pretty sure they would have given me a badge announcing Special Assistant required and wheeled me off on reaching our destination. Now come to think of it, drats!

This much interaction at this suboptimal grey cell functioning was too taxing and I nod off while the plane was still taxing. It seems like I blinked once and reached home. Crashing to the smell of filter coffee, the familiar and the familial.