Tag Archives: tired

I was angry, then I got tired

I was going to rant today. I was going to unleash the fury, have a go at many things that have pissed me off today and generally make a scene. I was going to be spitting bile in the direction of many authority figures, I was going to be questioning and clumsily dissecting policies, decisions and outcomes. I was going to do all of that, but I had too much work to be getting on with this evening.

As such, I’ve calmed down from how I was earlier. The initial shock of whatever it was that was making me angrier than I’ve been in a while has been replaced by a combination of weariness and… well, a bit more weariness. The rage has subsided, replaced instead by a need to go to bed.

It helps that when I got in I watched some Daniel Kitson, finally remembering to see what he’s like as I’ve meant to for a few weeks now. He’s really good, actually. That helped the rage peter out a bit. Then the inevitable YouTube trawl for other comedians extinguished most of the fires of hatred.

Then having to watch Resident Evil: Afterlife gave my fury a different target to focus on, and after writing about both that and Tron Evolution this evening I’m kind of all angered out. I mean, I’m not – I’m still utterly enraged by the situation our government has thrust upon its people, I’m furious about the treatment of people by the police – a force I once foolishly respected and thought of as there for our protection (turns out – here’s the dirty little secret – they’re just bouncers for the government). I’m still mad about that. I’m angry. I feel there’s little hope of a bright future, at least in the immediate times to come.

But I’m just a bit pooped right now, and I want to go and do a little sleepy. Unfortunately I have more work to finish for tomorrow, so that’s bollocksed that idea right up.

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Self indulgent, self-pitying nonsense goes here

I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts recently, and I’m quite annoyed because I can’t quite narrow down why. But that’s the thing – I don’t think it is any one thing, more a combination of many factors coming together and just bringing me down. And no Anna, I don’t mean you. Shut up.

I feel disjointed, like I can’t settle. This isn’t a feeling I’ve had since moving 300 miles away from anything I ever considered home, so I find it hard to believe it’s any kind of homesickness. Though maybe it is. Maybe I’m missing the life I had up north, which tended to involve sleeping, finishing all the games I owned and drinking. It certainly couldn’t be me missing the people from that part of my life, as I am a hateful man full of hateful hate.

Maybe I want a dog or something.

Maybe it’s because even though I work a full-time job I’m still no better off than I was before. Some things have changed, but they’re not down to anything I’ve done. Maybe the stress of that is still affecting me.

Maybe it’s the thought that at some point Anna will have to go back to Manchester. Even though she has been sitting next to me for about a week now not saying a word and just playing WOW, I do like having her around. The thought of not seeing even for another week is enough to make me want to cry myself to death*. I fucking hate Bournemouth for being where it is. Not that I was forced to come here, and I like it here. I’m just saying.

I am tired, and when I’m tired I tend to go a bit mental and emotional. LIKE A WOMAN HA HA HA. It’s probably just tiredness. I’ll get some proper sleep down my gullet and before you know it I’ll be back to my usual, happy-go-lucky self. Oh no, wait.

Whatever it is, I know it’s been making me squiffy, and making me seem ‘off’ for a while now. To anyone why has been confused, annoyed, offended or worried for/by/with me: shut up and leave me alone. No, wait… the other one. I don’t know. I’m confused.

Thus ends a diary-like entry and a shameless display of self-pity. I apologise for nothing.

*Original, less-funny line deleted for this hyperbolic-but-funnier line.

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No… sleep… til something! der der

I have switched to Tiny Laptop, so no picture for yooou.

I’m writing this while really bloody tired, so it may seem a bit odd with what I’m going to complain about. See, I haven’t been sleeping very well recently – interrupted snoozings as a result of my brain being an idiot and waking me up, as well as new, loud, stupid, godIhopetheydie, housemates. It all means I’ve not got as much shut-eye as I’d want, and it’s left me in a bit of a spaced-out/cranky mood for the last couple of weeks.

The reason it’s so weird is because I used to be able to sleep anywhere, at any time, in any state. When I was a kid I climbed under a chair in a family entertainment club (what the hell are you supposed to call them? ‘A thing like Butlins, but not branded and cheaper’ will have to do). Loud music, revellers and drunken adults mean nothing, as I was tired. So I slept.

I used to sleep for long, long times. During my student heydays we were talking 12 hours minimum most nights of the week, and some legendary snore-fests clocked up about 16 hours. Well what else was I going to do? Study?

But now it doesn’t seem as easy any more. My brain won’t just shut off and let me sleep. These days the concerns and worries are all too real and a bit too close for my liking, and it all serves to make me lose ten minutes here, ten minutes there.

Fuck’s sake, I just want an old-fashioned 14-hour shut-eye. Is that too much to ask?

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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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When are you at your best?

When do you write your best stuff? Blogs, emails, things for work – whatever. I do a lot of writing, as I may have mentioned (via writing, hilariously) so I tend to be able to judge when and why I’ll be at my best, my worst or my least enthusiastic.

Strangely, being drunk doesn’t actually hamper my ability to string together something half-readable. It does impair my ability to hit the right keys, naturally, but I’ve re-read things I’ve written when three sheets to the wind and a fair few times they’ve turned out to be okay. It must be the removal of internal barriers – less inhibited writing leads to more openness and honesty. And as we all know, they are good things.

Similarly, writing when hungover (hello!) can have a positive effect on the wordage. While there are times when the headache has been too great, or the nausea has been too much to successfully concentrate on writing more than a token couple of hundred words, there are times when it comes out okay. It’s another case of being in a more open, honest state. Though more guarded than when drunk, I find myself being more reflective and talking about more emotional things than I do at other times.

Sober? Well, then I write how I write. It can be okay, it can be good (rarely) and it can be bad. To be honest it’s not often that bad when I’m sober. Unless…

I’m tired. When I’m tired it goes either one of two ways: I cannot write, as my brain will not fill in the words. Or I will write tripe, as my brain can think of some words, but none that apply to what is actually being written about. I used the same phrase two or three times in the space of one paragraph a while back when writing something on about two hours sleep, such was the inability of my mind to bother trying very hard. Or even to keep track of what I’d written the sentence before.

I’m sure there are other states of being I could go into, but I’m a combination of hungover and tired right now, so I’m going to think of some inward-looking, emotional words to write, because I’m a combination of hungover and tired right now.

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Schleepy bear

I’m not sure which one I dislike more – being super tired or being super anything else. Oh, no, wait – I’ve figured it out straight away. I hate being super tired more than almost any other feeling, inkling, emotion, hunger pang or whatever else my body can do to me. I hate it for many reasons, but I do indeed hate it.

I hate the heaviness of your eyelids – how they lie in wait for you to blink before launching Operation Don’topen. I hate how you get a headache, or how bright light becomes more of a bastard than normal. I hate how not everyone in the world feels the same as you, so you know they’re not talking to you on a level playing field. I hate how it makes your brain simply stop… working, that’s the one. And most of all I hate being really tired because that tends to mean I’m not in bed, attempting to sleep.

I do actually like being super tired for a couple of reasons, surprising as that may be with all the hate I’ve been throwing atcha. See, for one, being so tired it feels like your head is about to just fall off means that you’re guaranteed to at least fall asleep quickly. With my brain being as much of a thinking twat as it is, this is a very good thing.

Secondly, I feel kind of comfortable when I’m tired. I’m cranky, sure, but I also lose a great deal of inhibitions and can end up saying what I actually think for once*. Also it’s like a mind-blanket, keeping you feeling strangely warm and dream-like. That’s a comfort you don’t get many – or any – other places.

I literally just nodded off halfway through that sentence.

*No idea why I said ‘for once’ there, as I tend to say what I think.

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Sleep is for the weak. And me.

I like sleeping. Who doesn’t? Idiots, that’s who. But I like it a lot, mainly because I’m a big lazy twat who would much rather stay lying down for most of the day than actually move/leave the building etc. But recently I have been unable to enjoy beds as much as I normally do, mainly due to the fact that I seem to have an incredibly fussy body that refuses to sleep on anything other than the single most perfect sleeping implement ever made. Yes folks: I haven’t been sleeping very well.

But don’t run to the nuclear bunkers just yet: I’m going to try and overcome this with scientific explanation, rather than whine a lot about something that really, really doesn’t matter (not that the scientifical explanation does make it matter, but hush down).

So why can I not sleep? Well, the bed moves too much. The mattress is fine, but the actual bed unit underneath seems to have massive divots in it. It also makes stupid creaking sounds that sometimes wake me up. This covers the main why points as to why I cannot, as mentioned above, sleep.

What can I do to fix this? I have no idea. I need to leave the floor open to your suggestions. Note that suggesting a soft mattress to sleep on is not a fing what I can do to fix this. I hate soft beds. They’re too soft.

Finally: is this worth a blog post? Probably not, no.

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