angry shattered

I’ve not had much sleep. I was woken at about 4 By Myfwt who’d shaken me awake to inform me, laughing, that she’d poked it ‘on the fing’ prior to instantly going back to a less disruptive form of sleep. Waking up at 4 is the kiss of death, literally, more people die at 4am than at any other time. I wish I’d never known that and I’m really sorry for letting you all know because you’ll remember it, at 4am, as you’re trying to get back to sleep but instead you’ll suddenly be aware of all your internal organs, your pounding heart, the thread like veins that connect up the entire human system, how fragile it all is, besides everyone has to go sometime…

At about 5 I managed to get back to sleep, at 5.15 I was awake again, this time Myfwt had decided to get period-related stomach cramps. How selfish. She took some Solpadine and came back to bed and sipped it before slowly getting back to sleep. By this time I was wide awake, at about fucking 7.20 I fell back to sleep, only to be woken again at 8 when Myfwt got up to go to work.

I got up at 9 after falling asleep twice in the space of 15 minutes, getting out of bed was harder than anything anyone has ever done. The cycling in situation was dismissed outright and I climbed up on my black bitch, it was she that took me here to my desk this morning, her, the one I love.

Last night I managed to get quite a bit of writing done early in the evening before Myfwt arrived at about 8pm. I’m in one of those zones at the moment where it’s quite smooth flowing, diarrhoea if you will but without all the smell and cleaning up, so it’s rather enjoyable. These are the salad days, of course, sooner or later, and I expect the former, I’ll be sat staring into space trying to work out a suitable conjunction or initiator to move the fucker along. It’s one thing to have the bones of the plot laid out and another thing to add flesh, essentially it’s a case of going from 2 dimensions to 3 and it’s as easy or as complex as that. For me.

When Myfwt arrived she took a hot bath and we ate shepherds pie. She seemed a little flat on account of the crap men have to go through once a month, so when The Butterfly Effect began following my hearty recommendation, which from the outset is quite nasty, it looked as if I made have made a mistake. Put it this way, she looked at me is if I had a turd hanging out my nose for the first 30 minutes. She stuck it out and in the end rather enjoyed it, I put this squarely at the feet of Crutchton Asher or whatever his name is, ropey actor but the ladies love him.

So, here I am at my fucking desk barely able to keep my eyes open. The only energy I had in me has appeared before you on this very page. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to function today. I’m on my second cup of coffee which is making my stomach moan, so when that sandwich fool arrives I will take a can or two of Coke off him. No doubt this will lead to a panic as my pounding heart fights against my fatigue, it’s the perfect recipe for being stood bolt upright in the loos for 30 minutes trying to inhale sufficient oxygen to support life.

So, there’s something to look forward to right there.