The man Nolan tries hard to visually reproduce the actual effects of insomnia. It works quite well, but never really matches the being-in-a-virtual-reality-machine-that-recreates-your-normal-enviroment-but-in-a-manner-that-is-just-not-quite-right way that is the genuine experience of someone who doesn't sleep well.
Today/yesterday (oh, you sort of lose track of time as well) Tired Mam returns from her Saturday job. I have had three hours not-really sleep the previous evening.
I am informed that Dempsey and Makepeace are coming around for nibbles and drinks this/that evening.
Actually, I always enjoy the half-hour that myself anf Dempsey steal in the pub that is conveniently located 1.5 minutes walk from my front door, but this is not the point.
After some time, all four of us fall silent for a moment. I welcome such silence.
Getting Favourite Daughter and Favourite Son fed, bathed, dressed in P.J's, given milk, tucked into bed, read story, do tidying-up, do hoovering (I'll teach Tired Mam how to turn it on one day. Funny, it's actually her hoover from long before she knew me. You would think she would know) and make sure I do not resemble Wurzle Gummage. It's a lot to do. I welcome the silence. (I fail at the personal appearance thing.)
Silence. It's been a whole four seconds now.
Tired Mam: Well. Go on then. Be funny Mr. Entertainment.
I can't be doing with this. It is true that, when surrounded by a limited amount of people I know quite well I am often Mr. Amusing Anecdote and Funny Story. But I am not some sort of comedy whore. I cannot perform at will.
Tired Mam: You've always got a funny story when we have people round.
I sigh. I look at my brother and his girlfriend.
Me:[with great sense of all sorts of not-good-sensations] I bought a Stanley Knife the other day.
I then explain that it was a not-really-Stanley-Knife. Having started, I have no choice other than to tell the rest of my shit story. My younger brother at least has common courtesy
Dempsey: NO WAY!!
at the moment I explain that I was quite innocently brandishing a very sharp knife at an innocent check-out girl with an open till.
Tired Mam quitely watches this, aware of the fact that she has already heard this story. From reading my shit blog. And has now heard me say it out loud, almost word-for-word. Knowing that there is so little in my life at the minute, nothing worthy of comment occurs more than twice a week.
Do I stop this silly thing? I started it as a deadtime not-sleeping filler but it's grown a bit.
Do I move, and hide the new url?
I can't do that.