I’m tired. Really tired. In fact, I can’t get enough sleep. But no matter how many times I say this to people, they always respond with;
“Yeah, me too.”
No. Not you too. I’M tired, not you. I can’t feel your tiredness and neither do I care. I just want to sleep. Now get out and shut the door. And tell those fuckers outside to shut the fuck up. Pfff!
I don’t know why I am so tired. Many will point to the late nights and barrels of beer. Maybe they contribute. But surely the lack of sunshine affects us all. You’ve seen what it does to plants. Ask Percy. The day I moved into the flat I picked him up from Homebase. He was just a wee ben back then but soon grew into a strapping plant of good stature. If he’s thirsty, I feed him. We exchange gasses. We share the same living space. We reflect each other’s mood and well-being. If he’s sad, I’m sad. If he’s looking all limp, then chances are, so am I. Probably because we’ve been living la vida loca a little too much.
Percy looks limp at the moment. He’s well fed and well loved but I just can’t shake that tiredness in him. He’s never like this in the Spring/Summer months. Neither, it seems, am I.
I’m a busy man, I don’t like over-sleeping. It’s a waste of time. There’re just too many things in the world to achieve and I’m pretty sure you can’t do them sleeping unless of course you’re John Lennon or David Blaine. Plus if I get up late, it means I miss out on breakfast. Those who know me know how much I LOVE breakfast.
One perk of the much maligned sleep-in has to be the benefit of dreams. I love dreams. I think they’re wonderful. At one point of my life I became so addicted, I would stay in bed for whole days at a time and dream. I learned to control them, thus creating a weird world of my own that I wasn’t in complete control of, but I could influence in which direction they would head. I had my hand on the remote control shall we say. And that remote control would always point towards the pretty girl.
I got stuck in dreams today. They didn’t rock my world but they were somewhat enjoyable. Like a 3-star rated film. That’s what they are these dream things. They’re mini films and they influence our lives and society more than we think. I had an epic dream the other night. It was so good I awoke Hannah to tell her, but of course, like most dreams they are indescribable. Funny isn’t it? Something so vivid and so familiar and yet you cannot find the words to describe what happened and yet you can still see it. It’s like discovering a new colour.
I tried to describe the Korean family I was protecting – in the dream – to Hannah although she wasn’t having it. Her eyes reflected that of an Iced bun, but let me tell you, it had; PASSION, ACTION, MORALITY, EMOTION. This dream had the lot. I swear I could turn it into a top-selling film. It could star Helen Mirren or Colin Firth playing a member of the royal family, portraying them as ‘emotive’, and getting an Oscar for an ‘accurate’ portrayal. Except the Royals aren’t emotive are they? They’re big balls of grey plasticine. A waste of time and money you might say. Except maybe Harry. Harry’s alright. He dressed like a Nazi.
I enjoy boring dreams as much as I enjoy the weirdo who’s sitting opposite me right now in this library. He persists to scratch his arm like a crazed dog whilst simultaneously breathing awkwardly and stinking like shit. I have to move. That’s better. I’m at home now and the only weirdo is me. The amazing thing is that it took me half an hour to get here and it only took you one second. That is the power of computers. Cool huh? Wanna see something else cool? I’m now writing this in a coffee shop. It took me ten minutes to get here as I stopped off on the way to speak to a guy I know vaguely about his dog and the limp it has developed. Ten minutes! It took you under a second! Anyway, boring dreams. They’re shit. But what is a boring dream for me? Well I often dream I am at work serving customers doing nothing out of the ordinary. I then realise I am dreaming this shit dream before telling them to get out. This is my dream and I’m not even getting paid overtime. Get out! Except for you darling. You can stay. But only if you get your tits out.