Thursday, 16 June 2016

Defier of Logic, Drinker of Coffee

So very, very tired.  I wholeheartedly volunteered/flung myself at the opportunity to cover the early shifts at work for the second week running.  Not because I'm some kind of saintly, generous soul who thinks only of helping out her fellow man in the work place.  It's because it means I get to do a little "enjoy the rest of your shift, suckaaas!" dance on my way out the door at 3pm while my well rested co workers ferret away at their computers for another couple of hours.

While it is true that I do get to leave the office at 3pm (in theory, depending on how much left over faffage I have from the day's work), what I neglected to factor into my decision was the fact that I really, really like sleep.  If sleep was a person, I would marry it.  

But. In order to get to work on time and fit in a short dog walk (let's face it, a Becky walk - the dog has made his desire for "just another 5 minutes' sleep.." clear more or less every day that I've dragged him out of the house), I have to get up at 5am.  A weird hour which is neither day nor night, and when the only other people around are nurses coming home from night shifts, insomniacs and other people who have made bad decisions.  Because of this Godforsaken waking hour that no amount of coffee can remedy the effects of, I've been completely and totally bollocksed by 8pm like clockwork.  

I've been getting into bed at about 9 each night, praying for a solid 8 hours' sweet, sweet unconsciousness and instead waking intermittently for the first hour or so (after a decent to improper amount of Facebook scrolling of course) because I'm convinced that it's morning as the sun hasn't even gone down yet.  I'm later woken again when the residents of the house (Andy and my small zoo) come up to bed at a normal, functioning-human hour and then again several more times in the night because I'm having mini panic-wakes because "Agh! It's only a couple of hours before I have to get up!"

My life choices often defy logic in this kind of way.  Of course 2 weeks of waking at arse crack o' clock = sleepy and barely functioning.  And yet I would still lunge at the chance to go to work at 4am if it meant I could leave at midday.  Or even offer to do the same shift indefinitely ("You mean I get to leave at 3 EVERY day? Wow!  Sign me up!") if the chance came my way. Common sense eludes me.  Here are some other ways that I laugh in the face of logic:

I eat until I'm immobile

Anyone who has read more than one of these blog posts (thank you, you lovely person if you have!) will know that to say I am a fan of food is like saying that erroneously trusting a fart in white trousers would be a little bit embarrassing.  It's a massive understatement. 

Clarification: I have never sharted in public, but I couldn't think of anything more unpleasant that could hypothetically happen as an example.  Let's be honest, if I had that kind of experience, I would have blogged about it already.  I have little to no shame.  Also my thoughts go out to anyone who has lived through the trauma of public sharting.  Your bravery in soldiering on is commendable.  Everything in this paragraph is indicative of how tired I am.  Help me.

Moving on from shart based digression: I start every meal telling myself that I am going to eat only enough for me to be able gain an adequate amount of nourishment.  Like you're supposed to.  Once I have done that, I reward myself with further mouthfuls.  Sometimes I reward myself so much that I spend whole evenings clutching my stomach and asking the ceiling "why, God, why?"  God has never spoken back to me, because s/he knows I already know the answer.  It's because I am a greedy so-and-so who will eventually be the proud owner of four chins.   It's good to achieve things in life.

I broadcast my failings

Okay, maybe not failings.  Mishaps.  I'm cack-handed by nature and so am frequently betrayed by my own body's inability to perform simple tasks.  I've unintentionally thrown things I'm holding at the floor whilst standing still.  I'm skilled in tripping over nothing at all.  I've been known to choke on know, that stuff that keeps you alive?  Lots of these things are done without witnesses, so if I wanted to, I could maybe portray myself as a semi capable hominoid if I really wanted to.  Instead, every time I've done something inexplicably stupid like temporarily forget what the number 9 looks like or trying to hang up my work phone by lightly smacking the receiver against the table instead of the holder, I immediately look for people I can tell about it.  I think it's because my body is constantly finding new and fun ways to fuck my day up a little bit and I want to share my awe of its stubborn independence and creativity with others.

I always find ways to piss Future Me off

This goes hand in hand with the whole eating-until-I'm-in-pain thing.  I know that doing the thing is going to have consequences I'm not going to want to deal with later, so in the long run, it's actually easier to not do the thing.  

However,  Present Me doesn't care.  Future Me is a whiny bitch who'll just have to suck it up and get on with it when the times comes.  Which is all well and good until Future Me becomes Present Me, who is gobsmacked and infuriated by Past Me's audacity at leaving Present Me all of those dishes to do/ making her have to get up from bed twenty bajillion times to go to the loo to relieve herself of the twenty gazillion pints of water she had before sleeping/ leaving her staring forlornly at her bereft bank account because Past Me decided that money is just a concept and therefore not real.  Past Me is a dick.

I assume that THIS will be the time that I drink and don't get a hang over. Every. Single. Time.

Self explanatory.  I blame Past Me.

Note: Am not currently drinking.  I might defy logic, the but having to get up at 5am after a Thursday night booze up in my jammies makes me want to cry.  I'm illogical, not insane.

I drink coffee as a remedy for stress

Yup.  That rocket fuel made ground-up of jitters and fear is the perfect, soothing remedy for a tough day at the office when you need your wits about you at all times.  It's so much easier to type when your fingers are engaged in involuntary jazz hands.  Genius.

I could go on.  Maybe I'll do a part 2 some time.  I'd better round this up now, because it's 5 minutes to 8pm and if experience has taught me anything, I'm about to fall asleep sat bolt upright with my mouth hanging open.  

I'll leave you with this -  A photographic depiction of logic slapping me in the face while I remain blissfully unaware of it:

Actually, it's me drinking a mojito at Christmas time, leaning on my own hand.  Also, I don't know if logic would wear a fitbit.


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