Blow me to Bermuda.

One of Those Days. You know the one. Get up tired because you couldn't sleep properly (I'll tackle that in a sec), covered in a clammy sweaty sheen, head still filled with nightmare-funk,  you're bloated and puffy from over-consumption, and the Millennium theme is stuck in your head because the dvd player's been stuck at the main menu since 3.30 AM.

Yeah. It's Monday.


Friend and I had a discussion last night. He's the one that just had the lap band surgery done, and it seems to have brought back some of his old mental processes. Like freaking out and wanting to kill yourself because you ate something Forbidden. So we discussed that for a bit, and Friend came up with one of the greatest terms I've ever heard. 


The Gateway Food. 


So you know how parents and teachers and the DARE Program all tried to drill it into us kiddies that marijuana is NOT ok because it's a "gateway drug?" Because it will apparently ensure that you go from weed to ecstacy and then eventually to heroin and crack. 


Well that's a load of bollocks, but I believe that this rule DOES apply to food. 


I think we've all got a couple gateway foods. I know I do. Cereal and peanut butter are probably the best examples. With other junky and even binge-trigger foods, I can usually have a little and then stop before I do any serious damage. But not so with cereal or PB. 'Tis the same pattern over and over and over again. 


1 tsp peanut butter--> 1 more tsp peanut butter--> whole tub of peanut butter, melted, with ice cream--> add cookies, crushed--> use bowl to consume entire box of Cocoa Pebbles --> more cookies--> fiber bars--> everything else, I don't even know at that point-->ex-lax--> cry.


It's bullsh*t.





~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*


Sleep is evil. Being a chronic insomniac, sleep is also very hard to come by. Proper sleep, I mean; not the rubbish-half-sleep from sleeping pills or alcohol. 


For the first time in I don't even know how long, I managed to get the point of Proper Sleep this past Friday night. Did I get a good night's sleep?


OF COURSE I BLOODY DIDN'T. 


It's these incredibly rare occasions of Proper Sleep that remind me why I have shied away from Proper Sleep since the age of 2. I don't like where Sleep takes me. I don't like the fact that Sleep also seems so bring other things to me. I don't really give an eff if this makes me sound completely out of my mind either, because whether or not it is all in my head, whatever It is Exists and makes my sleeping hours hell. 


Friday (or rather, early Saturday morning at that point) was bad. 


First, I had to deal with my deceased Grandmother sitting on my desk chair, berating me for allowing her children to destroy her house and throw away all of her things. She has done this three times now, since she died in May. At least this time she was interrupted, at about 4.02 AM, by something outside my window. 


Something SCREAMING. 


For some reason, all the nocturnal animals like to congregate outside my bedroom window and make a whole lot of racket in the middle of the night (And never outside anyone else's window, JUST MINE). This time, 'twas the raccoons. So between the insane wildlife and the Dead, I would really rather just not sleep at all. 

Schizophrenia? Psychic vibrations? Full moon? Dairy? All of the above, plus general madness? I don't know, but it's been this way as long as I can remember, all the way back to f*cking kindergaden when I was terrified to go to sleep every night because of what might find me in the dark. 


And don't even get me started on haunted houses. I've no problem with those kinds of ghosts when I'm awake, but I will not sleep in a haunted house and you can't make me. I've gone incredibly long stretches with no sleep (medicated or otherwise) because of such houses. Granny's house has forced me to stay awake for up to 6 days before I caved and went next door to sleep at my cousin's. Sure I have loads of fond memories of that house, but there is something incredibly old and cranky in it. Something older than the house itself. And it f*cks with my head. Even Mum admits that it exists, though only when she's drunk. 


I should become a traveling sideshow like John Edward. I could make a fortune. 


Hope all your Mondays are better than mine! I'm not as strung out as I sound--I promise. Just irritable. 


:D