Tuesday, Jan. 04, 2005 - 8:20 p.m.
She has sex while she sleeps but she never sleeps
In Middlesex-the-book-not-the-county-or-the-state-of-being, there's a bit where she realises she loves him because 'there's nowhere [she] could go that wouldn't be [him]' - and yes it's from an old film, whatever. But anyway, my point is that you could extrapolate that to sort of mean that you can't run away from yourself and that if you are sad at home you're likely to still be sad in Skegness, Barbados or Ohio. Right? Right. Well then how come I'm HAPPY at home and BORED and TIRED and TIRESOME at work?Also I'm a bit fatter and not because I'm projecting my BOREDNESS, TIREDNESS and TIRESOMENESS onto my hips but because I just *accidentally* cut myself a HUGE piece of my cake. By accident. And then ate it all. And by god, it was good.
Last night I got approx 2 hours' sleep. I know this because I didn't sleep for 3 or 4 plays of my cd and then, not wanting to hear 'I Am The W@lrus' one more time, let the room go silent for a while, except it wasn't silent because I could hear the wind roar around my roof sounding like it was removing all my tiles, so I tried to allay my anxiety by putting on the radio on 'sleep'. I don't know how long the radio stays on for before sleeping but it certainly went to sleep three times before I did. And then I heard the DJ say 'and it's 4.48 am'. BLOODY BASTARD HELL.
I am Jenny and I WILL NOT BE an insomniac.
What I do appear to be, however, is a secret sleep sexer. Or something. I have these big hurty scratches across my right boob that weren't there before I went to sleep. Further, my own fingernails are too weak and bendy to inflict such damage on myself. The mystery continues.
Ohrwurm: Fiona Apple's All Across the Universe, Wuthering Heights and Blossom Dearie.