Across the Continent on December 23rd

I am on this gigantic bird again,
soaring the continent with hundreds of sorted stories,
seated to my right and to my left.
(There are 6 emergency exits,
all of which I keep a close eye on.)
My eyelids are slowly thickening.
My body's getting heavier,
moving into the dream-time,
floating among the heavyset clouds.

The seat only mildly reclines,
making this journey an annoyingly conscious experience.
Has it been two hours of this?
The lady behind me might snap.
The mentally unstable man just gave her a tap.
This battle I will not address,
I'm too selfishly consumed with trying to rest.

Shit!
I have to pee.
The window seat is not for me.
Of course, the man to my right has the worst knee.
I feel guilty about my incessant bladder.
Asking him to get up twice will be the most unpleasant matter.
I hope Antonio from Italy
can accept my final apology.