I am bloody exhausted. It’s 11am and I’ve just rolled into work. I’ve a serious meeting in just over an hour and I look as if I’ve been living in the fucking woods with Ben Gunn.
For some inexplicable reason at 3am this morning, following just under 3 hours worth of sleep, I woke up and I’ve been a-cunting awake ever since. It’s preposterous, my own body conspiring against me; I mean what is the point? Presumably this has something to do with the reduced alcohol consumption (and possibly the changing of the clocks)?
Yesterday I’d had a busy afternoon at work. I left bang on 5pm as I had to get back home, change, get to the tube via the bicycle shop to procure a new inner tube and levers in order to meet my brother at 5.45 in the usual boozer in Clapham. It was a sublime evening; despite the trees still being naked and the immature spring light it could’ve been summer, the sky was azure and climate temperate. We sat outside for a while and sipped Grolsch until the beginnings of dusk where we thought it sensible to grab a table before all the garden punters came in. His missus met us and we shared a bottle of wine before I fucked off home at 8-ish feeling jolly but not anywhere near as fucked as usual. Indeed, I was sober enough to efficiently install a new inner tube, replace the wheel and have the bicycle ready… I intended to ride it today but due to the fact that I can barely see on account of no sleep, I thought the healthy life giving benefits it would’ve afforded my body could fuck off, I mean if it’s not going to help me why should I help it? The bastard.
It’s a beautiful day, the best we’ve had here since last October. But I’m feeling so shit I don’t care. What is really fucking annoying is that if I’d drunk a bottle of wine when I got home (I had a glass) I’d have slept like a rotten log, probably.
The worst part about balls out insomnia is the optimism. You are genuinely convinced at every fucking turn you’re going to sleep, assuring oneself you’re drifting off when you’re simply blinking in the dark, initially, then getting increasingly aware of the crepuscular light breaking into dawn then, god help you, day… Actually such is my state of knackeredness I can’t be arsed to do this… join me tomorrow where I hope I’ll have recovered.
Oh, pop off to watchwithmothers (link to the right) and read my critique of Brit film The Business, go on then. I have a meeting anyway.