This morning I arrived in London at around 4 am EST. I am writing this at 12:45 AM, but my body is convinced it's 7:45 PM. It's rather strange discovering half of your evening completely disappeared.

So a couple hours into the flight (11 PM or so) we're cruising over newfoundland and the flight attendants start passing out "late-nite snacks" consisting of sandwiches or something. I declined since my parents treated me to a large, delicious meal at Chili's earlier. I watched a movie and managed to fall asleep around 1 am or so. So I'm sleeping soundly (well as much as is possible on an airplane in coach class), dreaming about Lederhosen and foreign cars, when the flight attendant wakes me up for "breakfast." I accept, since the lights had been turned on already and I had no chance of falling back asleep. After treating my taste buds to a dry croissant, I look at my watch: 2 am. Who the hell eats breakfast at 2 am? I know I'm losing 5 hours, but do they all have to be deducted from my night's sleep? Sigh.

Other than that unavoidable aspect, the flight went off without a hitch. I met my uncle (who unsurprisingly didn't recognize me) and entered a land of foreign cars, signs, and roundabouts galore. Nice!