It really bugs me that I appear to have turned into some creature of the night.
During the day my eyes are heavy, I feel wobbly, a bit like my brain is saying one thing and my body another, and I keep falling asleep at inappropriate moments (like in important lectures)!
Okay, so the last five nights I've probably slept an average of 5 hours a night... good excuse for tiredness right?
So... WHY can't I sleep? At normal human hours. All day I lollop around like some useless doped up jellyfish wishing I could sleep and fighting the urge to curl up on the lecture hall floor and have a snooze. Then when night does fall and I eventually climb into bed hoping to get all squish and comfy, I'm wide awake.
All I can think of is what I've done in my day, usually how manic and crazy it's been, what I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow, and was supposed to do today, feeling guilty about it, then wondering if I should just stay up and do it or not.
Isn't it annoying that the one thing I was meant to be writing tonight, a 250 word assignment, I found impossible to start, impossible to even contemplate doing, and now when I'm actually supposed to be catching up on some shut eye I just can't help myself but to blog about it.... and like usual, I'm hardly stuck for words. I stared into my computer screen longingly for about an hour thinking and over analysing anything remotely good that I came up with. I think that's why I never struggle to blog, it's me and my style and I know that there's no mark at the end, no commitment I have to make to try my best, I can just spill my thoughts onto a page in the exact order that I think them.
I wish my hands could type as fast as I think... I keep thinking of good lines I wanna say then by the time my fingers have caught up its lost in the endless mass of my thoughts.
And it's so frustrating!
I really really don't think I will ever understand why the only time I seem to be able to blog is at such ungodly hours, when only hedgehogs and bats should be awake.
I think it's because I keep thinking about an interview I did today for the assignment I was supposed to be writing. I had to find an elderly person and ask them about their life, their earliest memory and get as much detail as possible from them. I stopped a few people in the street and asked them and every time my request was either ignored or politely refused... I think the fact that I am younger than 40 scared them off!! (oh and I met a women with THE most disgusting teeth in the entire world, note to self: look after teeth... don't want yellow moulders like that! yuk) But then I met a lovely man called John, aged 72. I bought him a cappuccino in a nearby cafe and we sat and talked. It wasn't your simple question and answer, he asked me about my life, I asked him about his, we discussed technology and current affairs, his childhood, mine and above all else, how good the chocolate brownies looked. Before either of us had realised we'd been sat there for 20 minutes, drinks empty.
I found it amazing that I managed to have a conversation with someone out of thin air, and without sounding ageist, a good conversation with a 72 year old man, who I clearly have nothing in common with. If all of society was like that for just 20 minutes a day, the world would be a much happier place.
I like to think my random interview and coffee made him happy, mixed up his routine a bit and gave him something to smile about (talking to someone in a hoodie and realising they didn't wanna stab him), you know, a kind of surprise. I think old people are scared of young people, they don't understand them and think they all are rude and ignorant. I like to think that today I proved him wrong... after all, he certainly proved me wrong. I was under the impression that the stories your old relatives tell you are boring and last for hours.... but no!
So I guess I'm kind of laying here now in awe a little bit of todays random interaction and how that 20 minutes proved to make me smile for the rest of the day. Dumbstruck actually.
I'm on the old people hunt from now on!
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