Britain is a nation that when not discussing the weather or food, it is talking about how much sleep it's had. We refuse to win when it comes to catching some ZZZs. The number of ZZZs accumulated are always either too few, resulting in caffeine induced mood swings, or too many, resulting in the sleeper being "over tired" upon waking - That strange phenomenon where you sleep so much that it knackers you out. Another term for this condition is "being a student". I am allowed to say this because I used to be one. Not bitter or anything about no longer being one.
Boo you students.
God, I miss drinking snakebites at midday...Made everything so much more interesting.
As I mentioned in a post a few days ago, I've clocked up an impressive amount of hours in the sack this past fortnight because I seem to be on a run of late-starting shifts where I get to rise from my crypt after nine o clock before having to head to work.
Score. Or so I thought.
Getting at least eight hours of coma time a night has not been the refreshing, health-giving experience I'd expected. Quite the opposite. Since starting my run of lie-ins, these things have happened:
- I have developed some kind of aggressive cold that is making my throat, ears and nose itch on the inside, turning me into a meat sack of itchy fury that sounds like it chain smokes.
- I've not been allowed to complain that I've slept too much. Turns out people don't like people who don't appreciate the fact that they've been allowed to linger in bed longer than them. What gives?
- My brain has melted into some kind of jellyfish that cannot function in daylight hours. It only wakes up at about 4am, when it showers me with an array of disturbing dreams that make me question my sanity.
- I have had no motivation whatsoever to move my body any more than is absolutely necessary. And by necessary, I mean when I need to bring food to my face.
Don't sleep, kids. It's bad for you. Because at least when you're kicking your mind's ass with Red Bull, it's stressed enough to think thoughts deeper than "That was a weird dream I had last night. Is lunch soon?"
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Friday, 15 March 2013
Wet Dreams and Happy Meals
I know! I know why I can't write anything good this week!
I've dreamed all of my mojo away. Wet dreams of creativity, if you will. I've spent the past few nights enthusiastically beating my forehead with my fists for ideas, and now I realise why they're not happening!
You recall my post about the fucked up dreams I've been having? Well, I've been working late shifts at the office for the last couple weeks, which start closer to midday than actual, terrifying, soul-draining morning. This means a fortnight of nine hour sleeps for this she-thing. I'm so well rested physically that I could run up the walls and scurry across the ceiling if I wanted to.
Trouble is that mentally, I'm even less perky than normal. Add this to my total lack of common sense that I'm blessed with on my "surprisingly well-functioning" days, and I'm basically a mindless terrier, shaking with pure energy.
All of my creative (for want of a better word) thoughts are going into giving me dreams so lucid and disturbing that I have to talk myself back down to reality every time I hear the alarm clock. Last night, I dreamed that A decided that we needed to buy a flat. In an ex mental asylum. That was kind of still a mental asylum (for want of a more p.c term) with actual horror movie mentals still living in it. I've also had another one where I had a heart attack whilst at my day job cleaning my mum's mansion (fyi - she lives in a modest 2 bed semi-detached abode and cleans for a living herself. No mansions) and couldn't call for any help because at that precise moment, I lost my voice. When suddenly I woke up at 4am panting and palpitating, my first instinct was to run to the bathroom and check in the mirror to see if I was looking a bit heart-attacky.
Seriously, brain. What?!
I've come to the conclusion that sleep is bad for me and that I should no longer do it. I hereby renounce sleep.
On an unrelated note, here's a picture of a tiny mouse thing that a human child (A's niece. I haven't neglected to inform you of any spawning on my part) gave me from her McDonald's Happy Meal, because she thought I'd enjoy it more.
Lookit its cyoot little FACE!!
I've dreamed all of my mojo away. Wet dreams of creativity, if you will. I've spent the past few nights enthusiastically beating my forehead with my fists for ideas, and now I realise why they're not happening!
You recall my post about the fucked up dreams I've been having? Well, I've been working late shifts at the office for the last couple weeks, which start closer to midday than actual, terrifying, soul-draining morning. This means a fortnight of nine hour sleeps for this she-thing. I'm so well rested physically that I could run up the walls and scurry across the ceiling if I wanted to.
Trouble is that mentally, I'm even less perky than normal. Add this to my total lack of common sense that I'm blessed with on my "surprisingly well-functioning" days, and I'm basically a mindless terrier, shaking with pure energy.
All of my creative (for want of a better word) thoughts are going into giving me dreams so lucid and disturbing that I have to talk myself back down to reality every time I hear the alarm clock. Last night, I dreamed that A decided that we needed to buy a flat. In an ex mental asylum. That was kind of still a mental asylum (for want of a more p.c term) with actual horror movie mentals still living in it. I've also had another one where I had a heart attack whilst at my day job cleaning my mum's mansion (fyi - she lives in a modest 2 bed semi-detached abode and cleans for a living herself. No mansions) and couldn't call for any help because at that precise moment, I lost my voice. When suddenly I woke up at 4am panting and palpitating, my first instinct was to run to the bathroom and check in the mirror to see if I was looking a bit heart-attacky.
Seriously, brain. What?!
I've come to the conclusion that sleep is bad for me and that I should no longer do it. I hereby renounce sleep.
On an unrelated note, here's a picture of a tiny mouse thing that a human child (A's niece. I haven't neglected to inform you of any spawning on my part) gave me from her McDonald's Happy Meal, because she thought I'd enjoy it more.
Lookit its cyoot little FACE!!
Tuesday, 5 March 2013
Sweet Dreams Are Made Of Lesbians & Rednecks
So, my attempts to win A's attention over the Xbox failed. Can't think where I went wrong. I was trying to be romantic!
Me: Hey. Hey. *poke* Hey!
A: What?
Me: Would you still love me if I had no teeth?
A: No.
Me: Are you thure? Look! Look how thexy thith ith!
I continue to gum "sexily" in front of A until I eventually get bored and wander off for attention elsewhere. Facebook entertains me for five minutes while a friend tells me about a near fatal tooth brushing accident she had today (birds of a feather stick together). I make sure that the bleeding has stopped. She assures me it has. I tell her to keep me updated if she does feel she might die tonight and move on to Blogspot.
And now here I am!! I came here to talk to you because I know you'd love me even if I had no teeth in my mouth and a big, bald head full of spots! Heh.
...I mean, you would, wouldn't you?
Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I'd write about because I'm still going through some kind of Tina Fey obsession that's taking up a worrying amount of my time and mental processes. So, I thought I'd go for that usual small talk that people just love to hear!
1. The weather: It's Wales. It's cold. It's wet. Next!!
2. Dreams: I have an overactive imagination (yes, it's true!!), and this still rings true while I'm sleeping. I don't tend to get the ones about flying or falling. Mine tend to veer more on the psychotic and weirdly detailed side than that. Funnily enough, the most recurring one I get is a frighteningly vivid one about all my teeth falling out. Huh. Am I seeing into the future? A never seems to be in them, so maybe I am!
Anyway. For any hip and funky wannabe psychoanalysts out there care to take a wade through the murky, piranha infested depths of my sleeping brain, here are a few recent gems. One with a highly accurate pictorial version at the bottom of this page. Oh, how I spoil you so!
Dream #1: I am at a trendy, dark bar full of beautiful, sophisticated lesbians in their thirties, as this is my age and sexual orientation now. Bit of a surprise because I thought I was a hetero in my mid twenties, but hey ho, sometimes you skip a decade and wind up in a gay bar for the gorgeous *hair flip*. Who am I with? Oh, I remember now! I'm with my best friend Holly - wait...my wife Holly. Funny how you forget these things! We've come out (see what I did there? SEE IT?!) on one of our nights out, leaving behind our home full of cats (really, brain? Can you get any more stereotype-y??). What a laugh we have at these things! Such fun, isn't it Holly?
...Holly? Oh, Holly's over the other side of the room fawning over some tall, blonde giantess in a black and silver sparkly bra. They must be friends. I'll go over to say hi. Maybe she's my friend too.
Holly: "Hmm? Oh. Sorry. I like this girl now. She has a better bra on than you."
Me, dumstruck: "Oh.."
Holly: "And I want a divorce."
Dream #2: At home with A and a few others because I live in shared accommodation, just like I did in uni. A's got a friend staying over with us. A timid, bird-like girl who won't come out of her room. Aren't we nice, housing the cripplingly shy like this? So nice. I head up to my room to do some blogging after a long day's sitting around. Bird Girl peeps her doe-eyed face around her door frame and "pssts" at me to come in and talk to her. I'm touched that she wants to speak with me. Perhaps I can coax her out of her shell by giving her a make over by taking off her glasses like in those films I used to watch as a teenager. Oh, wait, she doesn't have glasses. We can get her some glasses and then dramatically take them off!
Me: "What's up? You okay?
Bird Girl: "I'm okay. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Me: "Yeah? Why?"
Bird Girl: "I slept with your boyfriend."
Me, baffled: "Oh right...How come?"
Bird Girl: "He said we needed to sleep together to see if there's any chemistry, so I'm staying over for a bit to see if it works out between us. Is that okay?"
Bird Girl looks so adorable and timid that I can't help but laugh and pat her on the tiny head.
Me: "It's okay, I'm not angry."
I hug Bird Girl and serenely leave the room as forgiving and placid as an angel. Or Jesus. I am girl Jesus. I float down the stairs, saving my strength ready for when I beat the living shit out of A for making Bird Girl feel bad about herself.
Dream #3: I am the host of a gameshow. The contestants are heavily stereotypical rednecks. I ask them multiple choice questions, and if they get enough right, they win their children back.
What do these dreams say about me? Anyone want to hazard a guess? Or am I better off not knowing?
Me: Hey. Hey. *poke* Hey!
A: What?
Me: Would you still love me if I had no teeth?
A: No.
Me: Are you thure? Look! Look how thexy thith ith!
I continue to gum "sexily" in front of A until I eventually get bored and wander off for attention elsewhere. Facebook entertains me for five minutes while a friend tells me about a near fatal tooth brushing accident she had today (birds of a feather stick together). I make sure that the bleeding has stopped. She assures me it has. I tell her to keep me updated if she does feel she might die tonight and move on to Blogspot.
And now here I am!! I came here to talk to you because I know you'd love me even if I had no teeth in my mouth and a big, bald head full of spots! Heh.
...I mean, you would, wouldn't you?
Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I'd write about because I'm still going through some kind of Tina Fey obsession that's taking up a worrying amount of my time and mental processes. So, I thought I'd go for that usual small talk that people just love to hear!
1. The weather: It's Wales. It's cold. It's wet. Next!!
2. Dreams: I have an overactive imagination (yes, it's true!!), and this still rings true while I'm sleeping. I don't tend to get the ones about flying or falling. Mine tend to veer more on the psychotic and weirdly detailed side than that. Funnily enough, the most recurring one I get is a frighteningly vivid one about all my teeth falling out. Huh. Am I seeing into the future? A never seems to be in them, so maybe I am!
Anyway. For any hip and funky wannabe psychoanalysts out there care to take a wade through the murky, piranha infested depths of my sleeping brain, here are a few recent gems. One with a highly accurate pictorial version at the bottom of this page. Oh, how I spoil you so!
Dream #1: I am at a trendy, dark bar full of beautiful, sophisticated lesbians in their thirties, as this is my age and sexual orientation now. Bit of a surprise because I thought I was a hetero in my mid twenties, but hey ho, sometimes you skip a decade and wind up in a gay bar for the gorgeous *hair flip*. Who am I with? Oh, I remember now! I'm with my best friend Holly - wait...my wife Holly. Funny how you forget these things! We've come out (see what I did there? SEE IT?!) on one of our nights out, leaving behind our home full of cats (really, brain? Can you get any more stereotype-y??). What a laugh we have at these things! Such fun, isn't it Holly?
...Holly? Oh, Holly's over the other side of the room fawning over some tall, blonde giantess in a black and silver sparkly bra. They must be friends. I'll go over to say hi. Maybe she's my friend too.
Holly: "Hmm? Oh. Sorry. I like this girl now. She has a better bra on than you."
Me, dumstruck: "Oh.."
Holly: "And I want a divorce."
Dream #2: At home with A and a few others because I live in shared accommodation, just like I did in uni. A's got a friend staying over with us. A timid, bird-like girl who won't come out of her room. Aren't we nice, housing the cripplingly shy like this? So nice. I head up to my room to do some blogging after a long day's sitting around. Bird Girl peeps her doe-eyed face around her door frame and "pssts" at me to come in and talk to her. I'm touched that she wants to speak with me. Perhaps I can coax her out of her shell by giving her a make over by taking off her glasses like in those films I used to watch as a teenager. Oh, wait, she doesn't have glasses. We can get her some glasses and then dramatically take them off!
Me: "What's up? You okay?
Bird Girl: "I'm okay. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Me: "Yeah? Why?"
Bird Girl: "I slept with your boyfriend."
Me, baffled: "Oh right...How come?"
Bird Girl: "He said we needed to sleep together to see if there's any chemistry, so I'm staying over for a bit to see if it works out between us. Is that okay?"
Bird Girl looks so adorable and timid that I can't help but laugh and pat her on the tiny head.
Me: "It's okay, I'm not angry."
I hug Bird Girl and serenely leave the room as forgiving and placid as an angel. Or Jesus. I am girl Jesus. I float down the stairs, saving my strength ready for when I beat the living shit out of A for making Bird Girl feel bad about herself.
Dream #3: I am the host of a gameshow. The contestants are heavily stereotypical rednecks. I ask them multiple choice questions, and if they get enough right, they win their children back.
What do these dreams say about me? Anyone want to hazard a guess? Or am I better off not knowing?
Friday, 11 January 2013
SMARTIES!!!
Whose stupid, idiotic and just downright INSANE idea was it to go to the gym this morning?! Getting up TWO HOURS earlier than needed before work. Who in their RIGHT MIND would actively choose perspiring and panting on a treadmill like a sweaty hamster over sleep?
Oh yeah! Me. Knob End.
Before today, I've been gymming it for the last three nights pretty successfully (for me). I'd even venture as far as saying I've been enjoying it. Gasp!
I've enjoyed being anonymous in a big organism made of whirring machines and human movement, disappearing into my own little world (even more so than normal).
But who was I to kid myself that I'd enjoy doing that in the MORNING?!
Mornings are for hugging, foraging clumsily for food and muttering demonically into mugs of coffee. Sometimes watching reruns of early Batman episodes if you can muster up the energy to watch Adam West run around in Lycra. But that's it.
My body refused to put in any effort this morning. Despite my brain screaming at it to stop glaring angrily at my reluctantly shuffling feet, it insisted on behaving like a tantrumming toddler being dragged round the shops.
"Come on, we're going out."
"No. Don't want to."
"Well, we're here now, just a little bit further..."
"NO! Want Smarties!"
"It's eight in the m-"
"SMARTIIIEEEEEES!!!"
And you know what? I don't blame you one bit, you poor, hungry, confused, sleepy body. I truly don't. People who go to the gym in the morning are either freaks who don't sleep so they don't have to deal with the horrors of waking up, or they're robots. Robots designed by the gym to make us flabby little muggles feel terrible about our burning desires to lie in and mash left over pizza into our faces at 7a.m.
Well, I refuse to be sucked in! From this day forth, I shall only exercise when I've built up a nice, big mound of anxiety related stress, accumulated by spending a whole day pretending I'm nicer than I am to people I've never even met on the phone (my job - not something I do with the Yellow Pages and too much free time) before I even make eye contact with a treadmill. I will only move a muscle when I'm feeling suitably killy. That way, I will be getting healthful benefits and protecting wider society from my stabbiness.
Now, then, body. Let's go find us some breakfast.
*hopeful squeak* "Smarties?"
Fuck it, why not? Smarties.
Oh yeah! Me. Knob End.
Before today, I've been gymming it for the last three nights pretty successfully (for me). I'd even venture as far as saying I've been enjoying it. Gasp!
I've enjoyed being anonymous in a big organism made of whirring machines and human movement, disappearing into my own little world (even more so than normal).
But who was I to kid myself that I'd enjoy doing that in the MORNING?!
Mornings are for hugging, foraging clumsily for food and muttering demonically into mugs of coffee. Sometimes watching reruns of early Batman episodes if you can muster up the energy to watch Adam West run around in Lycra. But that's it.
My body refused to put in any effort this morning. Despite my brain screaming at it to stop glaring angrily at my reluctantly shuffling feet, it insisted on behaving like a tantrumming toddler being dragged round the shops.
"Come on, we're going out."
"No. Don't want to."
"Well, we're here now, just a little bit further..."
"NO! Want Smarties!"
"It's eight in the m-"
"SMARTIIIEEEEEES!!!"
And you know what? I don't blame you one bit, you poor, hungry, confused, sleepy body. I truly don't. People who go to the gym in the morning are either freaks who don't sleep so they don't have to deal with the horrors of waking up, or they're robots. Robots designed by the gym to make us flabby little muggles feel terrible about our burning desires to lie in and mash left over pizza into our faces at 7a.m.
Well, I refuse to be sucked in! From this day forth, I shall only exercise when I've built up a nice, big mound of anxiety related stress, accumulated by spending a whole day pretending I'm nicer than I am to people I've never even met on the phone (my job - not something I do with the Yellow Pages and too much free time) before I even make eye contact with a treadmill. I will only move a muscle when I'm feeling suitably killy. That way, I will be getting healthful benefits and protecting wider society from my stabbiness.
Now, then, body. Let's go find us some breakfast.
*hopeful squeak* "Smarties?"
Fuck it, why not? Smarties.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)