I am having insane trouble sleeping at the moment. Something has gone incredibly wrong with my body at night time and it's meaning I'm spending many of the dark hours wide awake and not sure what to do with myself. There's nothing worse than being awake at 2am knowing you're going to have be up at 6am with puffy eyes and a confused body wondering why you aren't staying asleep now that you've finally got there.
My body temperature...which usually hangs somewhere around the subarctic levels anyway...has somewhat plummeted of late meaning that on Saturday night I actually slept in ski socks, a polo neck thermal top, flannel pyjamas (shexshual), my dressing gown, a blanket and my duvet. And I still only got 3 hours sleep due to shivering. What the hell? Last night I tried to tackle the issue by sleeping at the other end of my bed (further from the draughty window - I'm a wonder child) in pyjamas, ski socks, a hoody and my Dad's fleece (lingerie is not a word I really compute). I was warm...but I was warm and awake. At about 2am I finally drifted off to the soothing voice of Tony Robinson (he was in an audio book of Mort by Tezza P not sat at the end of my chilly bed) and a scanty 4 hours later I was up and in the shower preparing for the day ahead.
I had big plans for today. Today was going to be the day I faced my fears and admitted to one of those bloke type people that actually he was the kind of bloke type person that I'd quite like to use to keep warm instead of my Dad's fleece. Not that I don't love my Dad's fleece - it's lovely, but it can't make me breakfast or buy me flowers. I was planning to be very brave. I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to say this...my vague plan was to choose something between hiring a jet and writing in the sky and writing I LOVE ? I.D.S.T. on the back of my hand and hoping he asked.
I feel about 15 years old at the moment...it's quite a long time since I had a crush on someone. In honour of my new crush I've listened to a lot of Jennifer Paige and have been smiling to myself walking down streets a lot.
The trouble is, I've bottled it. I realised I left my filofax in Canterbury this weekend. And without my filofax I am powerless to reveal my true feelings for anyone. Even my mother. She will never know that actually I'm a huge fan and have forgiven her the endless years of courgette and freedom to choose my own haircut (A 7 YEAR OLD WHO WANTS TO BE A BOY SHOULD NOT HAVE CREATIVE FREEDOM). My filofax is like my security blanket and without it, it's just unthinkable that I would do anything as silly as to punch someone in the arm and tell them they're not hideous.
I'm not great at situations like this. I once honestly sat across from a boy I liked in school and said "Look what I can do" before poking myself in the eye and grinning broadly. And we wonder why I didn't have my first kiss until I was a healthy 17...sigh.
What if I declare my undying love and then I get my filofax back and in the aftermath of having had my hopes and dreams dashed against a wall of uncompromising teen angst, I realise I've forgotten something important like Yom Kippur? Yom Kippur is in September I think so we might be ok on that front but isn't it Shrove Tuesday soon? I don't want to forget pancakes! I don't actually like pancakes, but I might want to make them for other people? And there'd be reams of sad people with no pancakes saying, "Where are my pancakes?" and someone will say "Oh Laura was going to make them but she's over there spilling her guts to that guy putting his trainers on..."
Ok. So there's a strong chance I'm using my lack of filofax as a very poor excuse for being an absolute pussy. But you have no idea how attached I am to him (the filofax). I think the lack of sleep is the least of my problems...
No comments:
Post a Comment