Titanic Town

Woke up this morning from a dream of being shot.

In Brighton.

By a psychotic 12-year-old. For protection money.

I say shot…actually it was a booby-trap. I tripped a trip-wire, specially put there for me, by said psychotic 12-year-old. Blasted what can only really be called “the fuck” out of my chest. Oddly enough, the dream went on. I had to get better, and then run his gauntlet of booby-traps again, trying to get from one end of Brighton to the other, this time with d’s help. Oddly enough, I’ve never been to Brighton. d has – it was, oddly enough, the day we won the Olympics that are currently going on. Y’know, the day before some psychotic nutcases blew…again, what can only really be called “the fuck” out of London tubes and buses.

Blink…

Blink, blink…

(Shrugs). No idea. All I can tell you is that if you’re going to have to get up at Stupid o’clock on an out-of-practice Monday, it’s not a bad incentive to do so if the alternative is closing your eyes and being blasted to buggery again by psychotic, protection-money-demanding pre-teens…

Had to go to London today, for reasons that frankly passeth all understanding. Nobody else was in the office. I was my organisation today. I got one call all day – and it was for me, so ordinarily, it would have been forwarded to me at home, while I biked, or ate cereal, or scratched my arse.

(Shrugs). So there you go – eighty quid I could have done without spending. But on the other hand, it was a very nice Monday in my part of London. It was as if every bugger had left the west side of London. You could walk on the streets, singing at full volume (which I did – The Time Warp, and Sweet Transvestite from Rocky Horror is you’re curious: thanks to my mate Sian for sticking those in my brain this morning!), and no-one would hear you…or, y’know…arrest you or anything. It kinda felt like so many people must be in Stratford that the west side of London was bound to rise up in the air, and the city would snap in half at Oxford Street, like the Titanic in the movie, till the Olympics ended up taking the whole city down to a subterranean grave.

Wore big clothes today, after the dressing debacle yesterday, which on the one hand is a pain in the arse as I’ve had to hold my trousers up all day (should have bought a belt at Paddington, really – they’d have snapped my hand off for the custom!), and on the other, has allowed me to pass shiny surfaces all day and pull my T-shirt tight, and go “Hmm, see that doesn’t look too bad to me…” in a faintly pathetic attempt to deceive myself I’m making progress. Still – self-deceit has helped me stay active and productive all day, and I was able to get a lot of stuff done off my inevitable and unending List of Stuff To Do. Many ticks, and even more crossing-through today, which at least from a personal point of view is better than moping about all day inwardly wailing “I’m so faaaaaaaat!!!” and craving  comfort food. Some days, you just have to feed yourself a big fat whopper of a lie, to stop yourself feeding yourself…well, a big fat Whopper, I suppose.

What happens tomorrow? I honestly have no idea. I’d like to do a walk tomorrow morning before work, but we’ll see whether I can shift my arse out of bed after the uber-commute. Guess that depends on whether the 12-year-old catches up with me.

So…

Sleeping pills all round?

Oh - blood was 4.8 this morning, but I almost feel like that doesn't count - my body was still asleep for hours after I tested, so maybe if I woke up at Stupid o'clock every morning, my blood would be low and percolating, and maybe it only rises in the ACTUAL morning...maybe.