Tag Archives: headache

HEADACHE

I have a headache and I’m uncomfortable no matter how I sit or lie down, so you don’t get a proper blog today. It’s probably because I’m nearly 28, or something.

Did I mention it’s my birthday on Thursday? No? Sorry, I just crave attention about it because I never had parties when I was a kid. And I still don’t have them now, because living in the arse-end of nowhere means nobody will visit you.

Admittedly I only gave people a week’s notice, BUT THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT.

Anyway, nighty night.

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For science!

I am currently in the third… fourth?… a day of my new experiment, wherein I am trying to retrain myself to only need 6-7 hours of sleep a night. As you may be able to tell from my opening confusion, my brain is not handling the changes to my normally massive sleep schedule too well. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s rebelling a bit.

But I have set myself this challenge, and I will at least try to make it work before giving up and going back to 10-12 hours of sleep. I’m sure that after a week or two my mind will be numbed enough to just accept what’s going on and go with the flow, even if the flow is a fair few less hours not having to think about things. It likes that time. I can tell. Stupid brain.

I’ve known for a while that those who sleep the ‘recommended’ 8-10 hours a night actually don’t live as long as those who do 6-7, but that never stopped me. It hasn’t stopped me now, either, as for one I don’t know where this “YOU WILL DIE BY SLEEPING” stuff is from (it could be the Daily Express, for fuck’s sake), and two, who wants to get old? It’s shit. You can’t do anything, you hobble about a bit and then shit yourself on the bus.

Actually, no, that sounds both brilliant and pretty much like what I do now anyway.

Right, yes. So I decided the other day I would intentionally limit the amount of sleep I get in a night. The first night was easy, as I’d been out drinking and always find it hard to get a full night’s sleep on a boozy head. The second night was harder, as hangover sleep usually lasts 14 hours, but I prevailed by forcing myself to play GalCiv2 for hours. Third and fourth nights: easy, as there’s been the alarm. But now I’m wavering, as I’m just bloody tired right now. I want to go to bed. But I can’t until 1am, because that’s how I’m to get the experimental sleep time.

On the plus side, this means my time after work has gone from almost-approaching hectic (but not quite) to really-rather-leisurely. And that’s probably the main reason I’m doing it. It’s only been a few days, but already I’m seeing benefits. I’m not rushing the blogs, I’m not avoiding playing games I want to play as I think I’ll only be able to put half an hour in and I’m able to catch up on shows I’ve missed and “LEGALLY” acquired at a later date.

So it may leave me cranky, give me a bit of a headache and generally make me slouch even more than I did before, but the positives far outweigh the negatives: more time for TV shows, films, video games, writing and coffee. Aweszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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The hangover NOT THE FILM HA HA HA

I find the stages you go through when suffering a hangover to be quite interesting. While I’m not sure we all suffer them the same – in fact, I’m quite sure we don’t suffer them the same – I do know there is obvious common ground we share.

This morning I awoke, it may surprise you to learn, with a bit of a hangover. Last night was a reasonably-sized event in which we all drank a lot, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out as I’m all about fitting in. So I woke up with the usual drained feeling, the massive headache and the general malaise that comes with the post-booze period.

By the time I’d dragged my carcass to the train station – off to sunny Guildford – I’d reached the second stage: nausea. Sitting in a slowly rocking train carriage, not being able to concentrate on the book I’m trying to read and pretty much on the heater, things didn’t look good. Fortunately, my iron constitution prevailed and the icy air of Woking helped me survive.

When I arrived at my destination, after what seemed like four months of travelling, I approached the reception. Just before my brain formulated the answer to a question I was asked, it pointed something out to me: I hadn’t yet spoken aloud, in the way one usually does to rub out any vocal cobwebs left over from the night before. My answer to what my name was went a little like this:

“NNNNHEEn Drld.”

By the time I was on the train back, I’d hit the stage of pure, unadulterated hunger. I was hungry enough to eat anything, and eat anything I did – I bought a packet of bacon flavoured McCoy’s. Now it turns out that bacon flavoured McCoy’s, rather than being bacon flavoured like they claim, are actually the flavour you get when you pour petrol on a Frazzle. And as for the aftertaste of bacon flavoured McCoy’s? It’s like heaven, except the heaven that’s really shit and horrible.

When I got home and after I’d eaten some real food, the feeling I currently have now set in. This is the part of the hangover I actually like a bit: things are like a dream, I’m tired but not knackered enough to pass out, the headache is gone and I’m not hungry. I’ll laugh like a knob at anything right now, and it seems I can write 400-plus words on a hangover. Hangovers are great.

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This is probably about the 20th filler entry I’ve posted here

323 posts down, this is number 324. I tell you, for someone as utterly inane, boring and pointless as myself, to have come up with 323 things to write about is nothing short of a fucking miracle. But I’ll be honest – it’s getting difficult. I’m finding it harder and harder to come up with something to write.

You see, I don’t just write things that I think people will enjoy reading – I want to write about something I’m actually bothered enough to write about. This makes things difficult. If I just wanted to write things you all cared about it would be opinions on the X Factor, or something. Possibly a witty bit of script related to your favourite TV show that isn’t the X Factor – the Apprentice.

See, I don’t find that interesting. I want to write about things that really matter enough to me to get a reaction out of my brain. You know, real subjects like farting, or buying turn-based 4x games on the cheap. None of your pop culture shit here, oh no.

But away from the facetiousness, it is getting to be a bit of a chore filling this out every day. The reason you’re getting this today is because I have a twat of a headache and couldn’t think of anything else to write, so I’ve fallen back on whining. Again.

41 left to go, then I never have to think of any topics ever again, and can retire into a life of luxury. Fattened, of course, by the massive advertising revenues this whole escapade has pulled in… what do you mean there are no ads here? And that nobody donated to my minimum-£1000 Paypal fund? Motherf…

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No time for a picture, I’m too busy whining

I am just going to spend not many words here predicting what will happen in my attempts at sleeping tonight: my headache that I currently have will prove too annoying for me to sleep for ages. As I have no painkillers I will have to tough it out.

When it subsides I will still not be able to sleep as it is too warm in this room, then I will be uncomfortable as the bed is quite small. Then I’ll remember I’ve left the window open and will be able to hear all the awful people outside going about their stupid business.

I am tired and crotchety. Hush down. It’s all clearly for effect.

For you see, I am in Sweden for the second time this year as a result of work. This makes me happy as before this job/year I had never been to Sweden, and now I have been to Sweden twice. Granted I have a bitch of a headache and won’t get to see everything this rather nice place has to offer*, but it’s still great.

Whining over. Ish. Headache. Grr.

*Who am I kidding? If I came here of my own volition for some kind of holiday I would go nowhere, do nothing and simply find a single bar to spend all my time in.

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I am ill. It’s everyone in the world’s fault.

Since moving to Bournemouth at the end of July last year I had not been ill – bar one moment of madness that lasted a few hours and was swiftly slept off. Of course, when it rolled around to being my birthday this year my body decided that right then and there was the perfect time to capitulate to whatever sniffles the plebs had decided to try and infect me with. I was not amused.

But then, just to add illness to illness, my body has decided once more it will piss me about a bit and make me feel – as I’ve been describing it to any and all – a bit squiffy. Again. For no discernable reason, other than those godawful things called “people” out there are weak enough to get these illnesses and stupid enough to breathe out near me.

You know who I’m talking about – I’M LOOKING AT YOU. I won’t forget this. You’ve made me ill for the last time.

So I’m going to run away, as all the greats of our world do, and go into hiding. While I haven’t yet finalised the Spruce Goose plans*, I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something else in time. Probably just hiding in a pit until everyone else has died of their various ailments, like the filth that they are.

Sweden could be a good bolt-hole. Just for a day or so. It might impair my ability to do the blogs, as is the norm with running away like this, but the clean air and beautiful people might do me the world of good. And if not, sod it. I tried. For once.

*SIMPSONS DID IT.

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