I wish I was Neo. And not just because I'd get to sleep with Trinity, but because I'd probably update my blog a whole lot more than I do.
See, I want that little plug socket thing in the back of my head, so I can connect up to a computer. Not because I want to do anything so grand as participate in "The Matrix", but because I keep thinking through these wonderfully eloquent blog entries when I'm drifting off to sleep, and the most I'll jot down on a piece of paper next to my bed is one reminder sentence to remind me of the theme, though the beautifully constructed sentences are lost.
Oh, who am I kidding, they were probably about as articulate as my friends 18 month old who spent yesterday afternoon waving "bye-bye!" to me, until I actually left when that became the one thing she refused to say (she's so cute!). Apparently in her mind the phrase "bye-bye" has become divorced from any meaning of departure. Which lets face it, is about as articulate as I am when I'm semi-conscious. This morning just before I woke up I had a dream that I had to go to Westminster for some parliamentary meeting, and everyone there was cuddling Care Bears. I wasn't though because I was afraid that if I took my Cheer Bear (or "Big Gay Bear" as the friend who gave it to me insists on calling it) with me, people would point and laugh at me because I was carrying a Care Bear in public. But then that's a whole other story.
Anyway, last night's just before sleep though was: Why is it that if things are going to go bump, they always wait until during the night to do it?
Let me elaborate with a list of things in my flat that have recently made sufficiently sudden and loud noises to make my pulse race:
* One of those Ikea carrier bag storers falling off my kitchen wall.
* My fairy lights falling from around my mirror (but not in one big bang, approximately 1 light at a time causing a clanging noise each time as the lights hit the mirror)
* A potential rodent raiding my kitchen bin.
* Workmen putting up a noticeboard just outside my front door.
None of the above during my waking hours. It was another fairy light clanging against the mirror last night that promted these thoughts. I sat up and looked at them and realised the only once had another bit of the masking tape (yes, I'm so classy) holding them up had lost it's stickyness whilst I was awake proper. I was very glad that it did happen once when I was awake, because the first time that noise disrupted my sleep, I was convinced it was someone trying to break in through my back door. But, then recognising the noise during my waking hours, I was able to place it as being the same noise that had distubed me in the early hours of that same morning. Phew. No attempted burglary for me then.
There are 24 hours in a day, I sleep (if I'm lucky) for about 9 of them. By law of averages surely some loud noises should happen during waking hours, right? But, no. It's like fate hates me and wants me to be permanently semi-conscious.
I think the idea of a residents association is quite fluffy. They've campaigned to the council for a brick wall to be built around my back garden, replacing the knackered fencing without me even asking, so, yay them. Until they decided they were going to put a notice board right outside my front door at ungodly o clock on a day when I wasn't working. Boo them, boo them indeed.
Maybe my flat is haunted by a ghost that doesn't want me to sleep, ever? If I have to have a spook flatmate, can't it be a nice, friendly one like Cordelia's Phantom Dennis in Angel? Actually, I wouldn't mind having Phantom Dennis living with me. He was a rather friendly chap. Oh god. I used the word "chap," and not even in the scary leather trousers sense. I think I'm turning into my Dad. Nooooooo!
Anyway, back to the subject of things going bang in the night... according to the BBC's Are you younger than you think? quiz thingemybobby, my "real age" is about one month older than my chronological age. And one of the things contributing to the fact that I'm technically ageing rapidly? The fact that of all the things that go bang in the night, I'm not one of them. Apparently my lack of love life is slowly killing me. If that's not an excuse to beg for a sympathy fuck, I don't know what is.