Yet more sleepless ravings [or ‘I’m high from relief’]

Once again it’s the middle of the night and I’m not doing a very good job of convincing anyone that I’m not an insomniac. I’m not an insomniac, I just want to be writing a blog post right now. Before this, I felt like playing the guitar. Before that I felt like singing.

I’ve noticed that all of the things I won’t do during the daytime for fear of being told to ‘shut up’ get done overnight. When I’m the only one awake.

Now things are making more sense. Also, yay! I’m not depressed!

Anyway, moving on from my revelations about why I’m nocturnal; I have an announcement to make.

I made it to London and back! On my own! Without having a panic attack! I took the tube!! I was pretty hyper for most of the journey(s) (or at least, a small part of me was. The rest of me was bored stiff sitting on a coach for three hours).

Oh yes, and I saw my boyfriend. It was great; we watched The Lion King and he took me to Camden Market and we ate KFC on the street and got stared at like we were hobos.

Not all at the same time, obviously.

And we also took his dog for a walk and someone tried to buy hashish from us but we didn’t have any so instead we tried to help him with his addiction by saying we didn’t know where to get any. Which is genuinely the truth; contrary to popular opinion, not all teenagers in London have a never-ending supply of drugs on them, like some illegal form of the Magic Porridge Pot.

I have no idea where that just came from.

However, I am now slightly haunted by the image of the Magic Porridge Pot alternately spewing out drugs (and making its owner extremely rich (and even more extremely high)) and drowning a village in porridge.

I hate porridge.

*NB – this is why I shouldn’t write blog posts when I’m tired. I’m going to sleep, before I destroy any more children’s fairytales.*

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I’m going to do something that scares the absolute shit out of me.

Tomorrow, I get on a bus to go to London to visit my boyfriend. It will be the first time I’ve undertaken a bus journey alone in more than three years, and the longest journey I’ve ever taken without my parents, teachers or friends holding my hand. My panic disorder is a million times better than it was, but I’m still terrified. I will have my boyfriend on the other end of the phone if I need it, but other than that, I’ll be doing the scariest thing I’ve done for a long time.

This will probably feel worse than trying to do the high ropes on camp (that also comes under the heading of Most Embarrassing Things To Happen To Me. Ever.*)

This will probably be worse than that time I freaked out and had a panic attack in the middle of a supermarket (also comes under the heading of Most Embarrassing Things To Happen To Me. Ever.)

But I’m doing it, and my boyfriend will be waiting at the coach station to meet me, and my Dad will be dropping me off and there will be people there. And I’ll feel scared, but it’ll be like that time when I had the HPV jabs and I convinced myself it wasn’t going to hurt. And it didn’t. It’s all about mind over matter.

And it’s only three hours.

Which doesn’t make me feel much better.

 

*I hate being physically attached to stuff. So when they clipped me on to the wire and told me to climb the tiny pole and stand on the little wooden square at the top (only thirty feet up…), I kinda freaked out and burst into tears and hyperventilated and swayed and said I couldn’t do it. And then I calmed down and spent the rest of the day feeling really embarrassed and not talking about it.

There’s nothing wrong with taking a bath in the middle of the night.

While providing a virtual counselling service for your boyfriend via text. Nope. Nothing wrong with that at all.

I’m now preparing to start tidying my room, because I can’t see the floor at all and it’s covered in food, books, clothes and piles of crap that I’m getting rid of. And a shelf that my brother threw at me this morning.

I would like to start by saying that I’m not an insomniac. I just happen to be at my most productive in the middle of the night. Or at least, Middle-Of-The-Night Me thinks so. Morning Me wakes up and looks at the products of Middle-Of-The-Night Me’s activities and tries to drown herself in her cereal bowl.

I have just realised that I’ve written about myself as two separate people in the third person. I would just like to point out that I’m not schizophrenic. Or at least, this half of me isn’t. I’m just kidding – or am I????

No, I’m joking…I think.

I don’t know why I’m such a night time person. I don’t like the dark. I love sleeping. I get sleepy quite early in the evening. So why do I suddenly feel like being productive at night?

I’m going to Google it.

Apparently I’m depressed.

Or an owl.

Or a vampire.

Personally, I like the idea of being an owl.

So imma go practice my owl skills by tidying my room. That is how amazing my life is.

 

**UPDATED – My floor is clear. Unfortunately (and entirely by accident, I promise), my bed has become covered in stuff.**

I’m no longer the Crazy Cat Lady.

I’m the Crazy Blog Lady.

I have a feeling I’m becoming slightly obsessed with blogging.

Seriously, 3 posts in one day. That is why this one is going in the drafts folder until I have calmed it down a little. Of course, no one will know this until I’ve actually published this post.

WordPress isn’t exactly helping. Every time I publish a post, they put a little achievement bar next to it and tell me how many more it is to my next goal. Which I didn’t even set. Anyway, I’m on 7 posts out of 10. That’s right, people. 10 whole posts. It’s insane, the amount of content on this blog.

I’m now up to 23 views. Two more views in a day. This is making my life, even if no one wants to comment and they’ve only come here because of the link in a comment I posted somewhere and they were hoping to see some good ol’ porn blogging and instead they found my obsessive-compulsive cat.

could blog about porn, if I wanted. I just prefer to get my kicks by writing posts with titles that actually aren’t misleading at all if people would just think outside the box. It makes me feel like Dr Evil. Unfortunately, I don’t own a Villain Chair and I don’t have the money to buy one. Yet. So all my fantasies about swiveling round to face whoever dares enter my room while stroking a cat will have to remain in my head for now.

In other news, my grandmother is about to give away her car. To one of her granddaughters. I am one of them. Contender 2 is older than me and should therefore be allowed the car, but Contender 2 has also failed her first five driving tests and is already insured on a car of similar proportions to my grandmother’s. Also, she’s moving to Cambridge, and bicycles are the only viable transport option in Cambridge. Believe me, I’ve been there.

I, on the other hand, live way out in the countryside where the only viable transport option is a car. Also, I’m probably more likely to pass my test first time than Contender 2.

Barbed wire and armpits do not mix

Note to self: when detangling neighbour’s filly from neighbour’s train-wreck of a fence-line, remember that you are wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, and barbed wire is sharp. Your armpit will thank you.

Also refrain from fantasizing about setting the filly free in the dead of night.

Also refrain from laughing at the memory of the last time the filly did get free and the subsequent memory of the neighbours chasing said filly around a 20 acre field for an hour while she galloped away from them.

Ditto re: feeling smug because the filly does not run away from you, and will actually let you prod her legs while you try to persuade her to step out of the barbed wire nightmare wrapped around her leg while leaning over a 4 foot barbed wire fence.

It is acceptable to get a little bit pissed off when this is a daily occurrence caused by the filly seeing you and trying to walk through the fence for a little bit of human affection.