my sleeplessness is out of control, and when i do eventually drop off i’m treated to the kind of dreams usually only seen in cartoons starring talking mice.
(you thinking what i’m thinking brain ?)
currently my bedtime is like a form of extreme sport - the kind only whooping idiots do - and i’m genuinely surprised at how resistant my brain is to actually fucking switching off when i ask it to.
the way this has manifested itself is mainly in the words, in the writing (see the duck-legs story, and a particularly shite early effort of mine which spoke of tigers and white russians. think i destroyed it, it was a solemn cremation – poof! up in flames) and also revealed in my vacant expression as i float through the day like an embryo. i’ve no idea how far my threshold will stretch before i end up the walking comatose, snatching sleep from pockets.
the french for sleep translates as ‘the little death’.* that sinisterism alone keeps me awake at night.
if anyone has any remedies for this sporadic insomnia let me know. but knowing you lot it’ll be booze and valium.
*update - thanks to AaA for telling me i am wrong. he can expect a prize of sorts. sorry, did i say prize ? i meant chinese burn.
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13 comments:
I think so, Pinky, but where are we going to find a duck and a hose at this hour?
p.s. my bedtime used to be like an extreme sport as well...(he he he)
narf.
your foolish comment at the end confuses and angers me.
extreme sex ? what's that ?
wolf-humping ?
clifftop shagging ?
sex on a swivel chair balanced in a hammock ?
narf
Urm... well... okay, I've been rumbled (you could probably hear the comparitive silence from next door!) It wasn't that extreme at all.
Definitely not like jumping off a building or shagging a wolf. or doing both at once.
or even having sex in a swimming pool
I thought 'the little death' in French was attributed to the orgasm. I could be wrong, but I'm not - I'm almost always, always right. And in this case I am. I wrote about it once. About the same time as I wrote about people from an anthropological sense in relation to how they butter their toast.
I do do these things...
i have just googled 'french orgasm' in an effort to prove myself right.
i did not hang around long.
oh-la-la.
'people from an anthropological sense in relation to how they butter their toast' fascinates me. please explain.
Le petit mort is deffo an orgasm. I've wanged enough to know that much. And if you think about it - it is kinda like a little death... I'll see if I can dredge up the characters... AaA.
i will update the blog accordingly...i love it when you correct me.
however, i can now picture you wanging an orgasm.
wang.
I am the triangular gap
You are the rectangular flap...
did i say chinese burn ?
i meant straitjacket
I only did the oblong one. AaA.
i hear you were all over the rhombus like a cheap rash...
I'm always all over the rhomboid... AaA.
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