Sunday, May 15, 2011

Charged With Aggravated Exhaustion

I’m now at that point of tiredness where I’m running purely on nutrients from the last things I ate and a leftover buzz from last night. Given that the last thing I ate was ASDA Smartprice ravioli and last night I watched the Eurovision Song Contest, I’m not feeling particularly buzzing. I’ve just got on a train which seems to be going to Canterbury via every single other town, village and hamlet in Kent, much to the annoyance of my brain which is insisting we sleep for a while before doing an ill advised gig to a potentially non-existent audience tonight.

It’s not that I’m ungrateful: I’ve had a wonderful weekend filming and pretending like I’m a real proppa actress wot like does this all the time, and now I’m heading to my University stomping grounds to show them how I’ve not given up yet. So, it’s not that I’m ungrateful – it’s just that I’m tired. And tomorrow I will be up at 6am to go back to Brighton and do the final day of the shoot. So it’s certainly not that I’m ungrateful; it’s just that my eyes feel like a sand pit and my head is trying in vain to convince itself that every other surface is comfortable enough to sleep on.

There’s something about train seats that are designed to encourage you to receive a fine. There is no possible way to be comfortable enough to sleep on a train without putting your feet on a seat. Now, I’ve ranted before about train seats only being designed for people with very anomalous body shapes but I’m not afraid to ask the question: Why can’t we design a seat you can nap on without being a dick about it?

Surely it’s not that difficult to laminate a small portion of the seat so that it’s OK to put your feet up there should you need a bit of shut eye? And, quite frankly, if you’re going to cover a chair in carpet you’re going to make feet incredibly confused about why they shouldn’t be up there. You ask any dog trainer – it’s about consistency of message. As soon as you fine people have elected me Queen of the Logical Thinking World I’ll put this in to the board of directors and see if we can’t get this all straightened out for you.

My sleepiness is not helped by the fact that I had yet another incredibly vivid dream last night. The only problem was, my dream appeared to have been modelled on a piece of Greek theatre, in that, nothing of any interest happened in the dream but all seemed to be reported ad nauseum until I was completely baffled by the proceedings. Apparently (in the dream) I had taken an awful lot of mescaline and was missing about 4 days of my life and people kept coming up to me and asking why I had done a series of ridiculous things. Now, I am not in to my drugs – I have never taken mescaline in my life – but I am reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas at the moment which seems to be the closest to an explanation I have.

This dream and the book combined have been a far more effective course of anti-drug therapy than anything else I can imagine – drugs sound awful! Clearly I was a tosspot when I was off my face too because I seemed to have done a lot of things wearing a stolen shower cap. No one knew what I’d done with the shower cap though which was very important. Drugs, I have learnt, are exhausting to dream about and leave you contemplating lying in the aisle of a dirty, dirty train the next day while you let your ears have a rest from the upright position.
Don’t take drugs.

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