Le Tired

They say when you're going through hell to keep going. By no stretch would I call my current position or location 'hell', but I find that I'm telling myself to keep on trucking. Don't you think sleep is one of the most amazing activities? Certainly, it comes pretty high in my list of favourite activities. I've also found that my fondness for sleep increases dramatically when I find I'm unable to partake in any. 

My state of mind over most of this week.

Not that I'm being denied sleep from some sort of sadistic experiment, or by small aliens holding my eyelids open, or by a metal band playing outside my window. Work all day, go home, edit all night, sleep for a few hours, haul myself out of bed, repeat. In between that I've been kidding myself that I'd have enough time to pack up the Reb cave in order to move efficiently on Saturday. That's tomorrow.

As you can expect, I've failed miserably at beginning to pack. I've also failed miserably at defeating the illness that's been plaguing me. No matter though. I've filled to archive boxes with photos, kitchen shit, and a few books.

HNNNGGG.

Luckily, it appears I'm moving in with someone with as little skill at MAXIMUM EFFICIENCY as myself. Mike has procrastination skills that rival my own; he had the day off and reformatted a computer. Me? I am sitting here blogging and watching Snog Marry Avoid instead of packing up my belongings. I was not aware of how fond some people could be of fake tan. Were you? I feel I've had a very educational night. I've also just realised that I've gone past the point of so-tired-so-full-of-energy to so-tired-the-fuck-was-I-thinking-about? The ol' too tired to think properly game. That old chestnut. Whenever this happens, I feel that it's with an underlying feeling of, "Oh, how fascinating!". So as much as I'd like to go to sleep, part of me feels like this sensation needs to be investigated.

I opened my backpack earlier and found I'd left a mandarin at the bottom of it. So that's what that smell was! It's very mouldy. The mould attached itself to the dress that was also in the backpack. My poor, poor backpack. What did it ever do to deserve getting mouldy? And that poor mandarin. I'm sure it just wanted to be eaten, but instead it lived out its last days wasting away underneath a makeup bag and a jumper. Lashing out in anger at a dress, it knew the end was near but didn't want to accept it. I'm sure it would have been delicious. Now it stinks out my bin.

More coffee!