Drinking a number of Jack Daniels and coke put me in a slightly intoxicated sleep. Not too many drinks just enough. It was good because I didn't have to lay there and think crap, head hit the pillow and off to lala land. Nothing to do with the telly tubbies either. However at about 3 a.m. I awoke, so the four hours of somnambulism had been snatched away. Gently a waft of something smelly seemed to be tickling my nose. It was bad enough to just lay there and realise sleep was not going to happen again but to understand this waft was from me, or because of me. From yesterday. My socks to be precise. Now in a imaginary world where dreams are of the weirdest kind those very socks would of done a favour and walked off on their own, like the mops from Disney's Magician's Apprentice. They would of found the dirty laundary basked and dived in there all of their own accord. For it would of been the right thing to do. However, socks are evil, they do not have the power to get up and walk to the dirty washing pile, instead they will lay on the floor where last left and fester in the previous day's sweat and bacteria. Slowly and surely letting their presence known throw the reminder of their odour. This is what happened at 4 a.m. and makes me get up to write this bloody BLOG.
What is it about 4 a.m. in the morning? It is a time when going back to sleep is absolutely essential to ensure you are bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning, but it is also one of those times when the pressure is on because if sleep does not come in an instant it will mean it is unlikely to come at all. Just laying there trying desperately not to move, or if it is necessary to move then to find the perfect position where sleep will return. Yet the bed is too hot, it feels uncomfortable, there is a itching devil in your mind jumping up and down on the cerebellum giving it a right kicking and not letting nature take it's course. Mind this may well be down to drinking too much coke and about now the effects of the alcohol have worn of but the effects of too much caffine are kicking in. So by the time you do get up about 8 a.m. then you're feeling like shit and want to go to bed again but can't because the law of humanity says it is time to get up and move your blooming arse, things need to be done.
I've not been walking so much this week. Which is odd why I should be woken up by the smell of my socks. For walking gives them a reason to be worn out and stinky. Taking the bus or the train into work most days and returning the same way has my preferred modus operandi. It is a form of lazyness when lazyness doesn't strike at night. It really is something I should sleep on, oh except I can't sleep on it, not at the moment anyway. I used to think walking was a boring thing to do and it was something the unfit people did, the ones who could not get to a gym, who were fat and said they walked as a way to ease their conscience. Now I'm older, fatter and unfit I to walk to ease my conscience and become a hypocrite to my younger self. The slimmer self who slept very well, the slimmer self who didn't drink too much coke or eat too much and had more head on his head. But such is the way of the world and getting older. Such is the way of invidious nocturnal very early morning awakenings and writings of words in blogs which never get read by anyone but are a reminder to humanity that one awake individual did write something down. Even if it was for himself and in order to ease his awoke nonsleeping mind, which very much would like to sleep.
Think I'll go and lay down now, but I can't sleep because I need to get up shortly. And maybe sort those socks out.
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