"I'm Sorry, Your Fingers Are Too Sleepy to Finish this Post..."

I’m sitting on the oldest plane ever somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I think the Wright Brothers might have carved their name in the bathroom, before they moved on to a newer, more commercial model. I should be nodding off soon: It’s a sure sign the Ambian is kicking in when I can’t type. You’ll probably read this once I’ve edited it in the morning, but right now it looks a bit lishksjent thiewbbs. I’m also sitting in the very back of coach with a longshoreman in front of me who is reclined so far back in his seat, I might as well make his flight a little nicer by massaging his temples. He actually asked the flight attendant why it wouldn't recline more. Um, those would be MY LEGS.

I’m coming back from two weeks in Tel Aviv, as you know if you've been following me on Twitter or TechCrunch. I’m exhausted, sad, happy, and inspired because I can see  parts of the book coming together already. But mostly I just can’t wait to see my husband. (see his cuteness, below)

Since I’m getting Ambian-heavy-typing-fingers, I started watching the movie “Marley & Me,” thinking it would help the pill, wine and a noise reduction headset push me into a sleepy world where I can dream of flying first class. Instead, I’ve found myself actually watching it. Perhaps, as a cat person, I’m missing the point, but it seems to be a movie about a reporter who is so tethered by family life, he can never follow his dreams. He watches sadly as his buddy travels all over the world writing about drug cartels, which is sort of like traveling all over the world and writing about entrepreneurs.

It’s pretty hard to watch this and not miss my husband even more. There are very few men who would be cool with me flying off for weeks on end, coming home exhausted and emotionally-spent with even more work to do.

This book is really hard to do on a ton of levels. But I can handle the flights, the jet lag, the exhaustion, the mindless hours organizing logistics, and the frustration that comes with only knowing five words in someone’s language when you’re trying to learn his or her deepest hopes, secrets and fears. I can handle it all because I also get the joy and excitement when it comes together. But Mr. Lacy only gets an exhausted wife he sees more on Skype than in real life. Either he secretly hates me or he’s a pretty amazing guy.