Night Shift

I discovered something last night.

Well, I discovered many a thing last night, but only one I'll discuss.

Yesterday, it was my friend's birthday party. He's twenty-one in a few days, but had a celebration yesterday.

When I was there, I was on form. And by that, I mean that everyone was drinking and being merry while I stayed in one spot, noticing things that others didn't. This time, it was about the green lights that where on the wall. First, some didn't move, then some vibrated to the bass. What a fuckhead I am.

Anyway, that's not what I discovered.

When I was home, I tried to go to bed. Well, I succeeded with actually going to bed, it was just the process of sleeping that I had trouble with.

I'm not sure if I was dreaming, or if it was just my brain was in a stasis of rest while my entire body was awake, but for about an hour, I remember working on this DVD that I'm helping with in work. The only difference is that I was using a programme that was a mix between Premiere Pro and DVD Studio Pro, and the other person who I was talking to about the work wasn't a fellow worker, but the girl who I have feels for.

In that hour, all I remember that I was working on the DVD, feeling weak, as if every little change took the maximum of effort. The girl was pissed off with me for some reason, either because I was fucking up the work or she just felt awkward and ashamed to be forced to work with me. Every wrong thing that I did resulted in me banging my head on my bed. So, I was conscious to know what was happening, but unconscious enough to not being able to stop myself from being in this state of delusion.

The thing is, I don't understand why this happened. It's not like I'm stressed about work, because I'm honestly not. The work, albeit time consuming, isn't difficult. There are setbacks, yes, but nothing that I haven't encountered before. I had to use DVD Studio Pro in one of my assignments last year, and I had a decent mark in it, so I know how to work it and that. Premiere's just Premiere.

Maybe it's about her.

Maybe I'm just being a fool.

Yeah, it's definitely the later.

Anyway. That's another thing that confuses me. This is the first time where work and my personal life has merged, and it's in a dream (or whatever you call it). I've always kept my different lives separate. I mean, my work, university, family and personal lives are just that, four separate aspects of my life. Granted, there are some overlaps (Clic, for example), but on the whole, I try not to merge the different aspects of my life.

I have no idea why this is the case, it's just always been like that.

Anyway, you might be wondering what I discovered.

It was about three in the morning, when I came around from the dream-that-probably-wasn't-a-dream-because-I-wasn't-completely-asleep dream. I was wide awake, and I only wanted to do one of two things.

The first one will make me sound like a soppy arsehole, so I''ll forever keep it to myself.

The second is, I'm much better suited to working than socialising.

I mean, look at the evidence. The only real time I feel somewhat comfortable is when I'm doing work. Whether it's something I can do off my own back (like designing a banner for Wicid, editing video footage, writing and editing articles) or something I have no idea what I'm doing (like photography, anything administrative), at least I'm doing something constructive. Or at least trying to do so.

When I'm socialising, what am I doing? Nothing. Most of the time, I'm just awkwardly being there with  nothing of substance to add to the conversation. Well, unless they're talking about something I actually have confidence in, like anything multimedia or how to effectively kill bosses in Final Fantasy X, but let's be honest how many times with that happen?

I don't know. It just seems that I was not bred to talk. I was born to work, even if my chosen career will help humanity as much as a dog shitting in the woods would add a loving ambience to a political convention.

Most pointless description, ever.

Before I stop writing this idiocy, I have one question that might make my sound like a right numpty. I don't suppose that any of you have an idea how to escape from yourself for an hour or so? And I don't mean ways to have time off from work and just relax. I mean, actually separate your thoughts from your brain for even a moment, just so you can think about something other than the usual stuff?

So yeah, that's a thing.

- And this is a FIN.

Sleep Clock

It happened again.

Not to the levels where the neighbours called the police because it sounded like someone was being murdered, but alas, it happened again.

I have no idea why, or how. If I did, I would be asleep right now, dreaming of delusions that could only be real in my mind. If I did, I wouldn't contaminate the internet with a worthless blog post about it.

I, being the person that I am, have been eating normally. Well, I say "normally", I mean "normally for me". For the past month or so, I've had on average about two meals a day. Maybe because seeing other people eat makes me want to just ignore food altogether or the fact that when I work on something, my body goes into you're busy and therefore have no need for food mode, which happens a lot.

Why am I saying this to you? Salt and sugar. We assumed that because I'm consuming less salt and sugar, I've kicked the whole scream like a little pig because my mind's a fucked up prick. But yesterday, what did I have? A bacon sandwich, three mentos and then chicken, rice and chips. And there was like an eighteen hour gap between the first and last meal. And all through the day, I drank squashes. I've not touched a Pepsi or a drink like that in about two months now. Fuck, that makes me sound that I was a Pepsiholic.

Anyway, that's not any different that what I had yesterday, or the day before, or the day before, or... you get the gist. Basically, what I'm saying is, my brain is fucking trolling my body, and all I want to do is punch my brain until all it can think of is ouch.

It feels like I'm going mad, sometimes. I mean, how pathetic does it sound when I say on occasion, I wake up screaming because I possibly have an intolerance to salt and/or sugar?

But enough about why I can't think of a cause for this one, and more inane bull that nobody will care to read.

Today's just been a minefield of mindfuck for me, and I don't know why. Filled of moments where I wanted to say something but my brain goes nah, don't say that, you'll look like a right pervert/arsehole/wanker if you say that. Yet, in one instance, all I want to do is compliment someone, someone who I thought looked absolutely gorgeous on that day. But my brain talks me out of doing so, in fear that I'd look a fool or just make things extremely awkward between me and the other person.

But it's not just that, it's everything. No matter what I do - filming, editing, working, even socialising - my brain will unconsciously find fault with something, or decided that whatever I'm doing is utter shit and I end up wasting hours of my time.

In the past two or three weeks, I've written about ten articles for Wicid and Clic, but they all are either documents on my computer or instantly deleted due to the perceived shitness of the written word. I could be a coward, create a fake account and upload them using that account so nobody'll know who really has written them, but I'd know.

Every idea I have, every thought I have, every comment I say, I always second guess myself, leading me to never have my idea come to life or the thought or comment never to be heard.

I don't know. Maybe it's because of some thing that happened in my history that I've condensed into the hatred of my being that exists today.

Maybe one day I'll jump off this train of thought and walk into the realms of not having second thoughts of my first ones. But then again, I have no idea whatsoever what to do to do so.

Ah well, that's a lovely end of to a shitty blog.

Now, if you excuse me, I have nothing else to do until tomorrow. Good day.

- Can't think of a witty end to this, so I'll just end with FIN

Wake Me Up, Before I Go Go

I apologise.

Why?

Because I'm going to talk about my problems with sleep.

This time, I cannot recall what I dreamed about. All I know is that I felt really tired at about twenty to eleven last night. I know it was that time, since Lunch Monkeys started on BBC Three after another Eastenders episode.

Anyway, next thing I know, I was screaming. Screaming worse than before. Screaming so bad, that the next door neighbours called the police because they thought something sinister was going down. But no, it was just my fucking brain playing tricks with the rest of my body. Thanks, brain. Thanks a cocking lot.

But yeah, again my mother met me outside my bedroom door. This time, apparently, I was pushing against her, trying to evade her grasp. So much so, that she said that it felt as if I could have pushed her down the stairs with my strength (which I can't understand, as I'm as strong as a mild cheese).

It took a good three minutes for me to come around, with the first thing I could hear clearly was my mother telling my father to get changed so he can take us to the hospital.

Great.

After a couple of whiles, we saw a doctor in accident and emergency. She said that she has no idea what the problem could be. She also said that she cannot give me any medication for it, as they hold no sleep-related tablets there.

That meant that I had to see another doctor about it.

After a good five minutes talking about my situation, he went on his computer and he came to the conclusion that it is a form of night terrors. The only thing that is different is that night terrors usually occur in young children, say six year olds. They have no idea why I'm getting these at nineteen.

The doctor then added that giving me sleeping pills will just aggravate the situation, either making these episodes more frequent or more intense.

So, what did he suggest? He told my mother to wake me up roughly fifteen minutes before the terror happens.

In a way, they'll have to "wake me up, before I go go."

So, my mother will have to wake me up an hour or so after I go to sleep. See? Another reason for me not to be in accommodation in university.

Nothing much to add. I thought I was done with it, but my brain decided to bring a shroud of terror upon my sleeping state. If this is what death has coming for me, I want to live until I'm at least five hundred.

- Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are FIN.

Dead By Sunrise

Yeah. As you can tell by the blog title (and, if you're following me, on Twitter also), it happened again.

Fuck.

This time, it wasn't as hardcore as the last time. Yes, I woke up screaming. Yes, I also hugged a family member (this time, MkIII). This time, I had no idea what I dreamt of to make me, apart from the fact that there was a girl in this dream (and the dream that I had after that, which I'll talk about later).

All I remember in the dream, before waking up, was a girl. I'm not going to lie to you, she was ugly. She was short, with an extremely large head. Freakishly large. She was also white, with really dark, dull, straight hair. I have no clue why I'm describing her, maybe it's just to document my pathetic sleeping problems. Fuck, I hate the human body sometimes.

After watching the whole first series of Blackadder again, I went to sleep (this time, with no problems). This time, she came back, but it was different. This time, I actually grabbed on to her. And when I say that, I mean that I grabbed her throat as she was coming at me, not that I molested her. As I dragged her around the place, trying to find something, I suddenly woke up.

Last night, it nearly happened again. I say nearly, as this time I woke up just in time before the dream took hold on my pitiful excuse of a brain. It felt the same as the last few times, so I guess you can say that I've learned from past mistakes. Yet, after watching the majority of Blackadder The Third, I fell asleep.

Obviously, Baldrick was in the dream. He asked me "can you hear that phone call?" There was no phone call, as we were walking on an alley. Then, a fucking train tried to run me over. Bastard. Then, after I saved Baldrick, the train reversed back and tried to run me over again. Luckily, I woke up before it run me over. Grr.

But yet, I have no idea why. Ah wel.

And before you ask, yes. Yes, I have been to see the doctor about it. Guess what? They have no idea what's wrong either. I have no idea what to do now. Bugger.

In other news, I went to see Russell Howard on Thursday. Fuck yes. What made it sweeter? I went for free. Whoop. Thanks to Clic. Haha. I had to review it mind, that was the reason I went. But by fuck, he's brilliant live. I'll add a link to the review once it goes live on Clic.

I'll leave you to it now. I've bored you to hell and back, I bet.

- Area FIN-ty one

Save Me Sorrow

No word of a lie to you, I'm pretty scared.

Not in the sense of oh shit, there's a spider scared, mind. And you've probably guessed what it is about.

Yes, it's that thing that I mentioned before. Sleep.

Ever since the happenings from my last post, I have been feeling extremely paranoid about falling to sleep. As the clock at the top right of the screen on my Macbook graces ever closer to the late night, my brain just begins a cycle of panic and doubt.

I can't deny it, and I won't deny it. I fucking well hate sleep. I've never liked it. The more that I exist, the more I think sleep is just natures way to steal hours from our lives from under our noses. But it's a hate-hate relationship. I hate sleep, and by raisins it hates me too.

But, and it's just a guess, I think sleep hates me more than I hate it.

After the whole thing last Tuesday, I've had some minor versions of it happen at a rate of once every two to three days. Last night's sleep is an example. I went to bed at about half one, and then half an hour after, I wake up, feeling extremely bizarre.

But, I have found out something that is rather curious. This is happened exactly, nearly, a year ago. This is the first mention of when my problems with sleep occurred first. Look at the date. What is it? January the sixteenth, 2010, with this being the second mention, eight days after.

Now, look at the date of my last post. Eleventh of January. Roughly a year ago.

One thing that will make me panic, is either if this thing will occur next year. And, if so, what sort of period of time am I looking at. Or, will it only be in January when I have these fuckups in the sleep department? No idea.

There is only one thing that I definitely know for now. For the next few weeks, I will feel rather nervous about going to sleep.

I think I need help.

There is two possibilities that could be the reason that I have problems like these with sleep. The first, which kind of fixed it the last time, was vitamin deficiency. After the first few times that the whole sleep paranoia happened, my mother advised me to take Berocca. I have no idea if that is the right way to spell it, but then again who gives a shit.

This time, even though I've started to take Berocca again, my mother believes that it could be something else. Caffeine. I could have a caffeine intolerance, meaning that if I have too much of it, I have trouble sleeping. Though, this might not be the case, as I have consumed products that contain caffeine (such as coke and tea) for ages, so maybe not that then.

I'm hoping to see a doctor soon about it. Maybe then they'll find out something about me that I fear. I don't care if that sounds pathetic. If you found out something about you that's wrong with you, no matter how small, you'll (probably) feel a bit worried, yeah?

I don't know. Maybe it's just my brain trying to tell me to stop being an arsehole.

Time will tell, eh?

- Mr Sandman, give me a FIN.

A Year Has Past Since I Wrote My Note

In the past few weeks, two things have happened that have stapled the reasons why I despise those two aspects of my life.

The first thing is food. For some bizarre reason, I became sick after eating a small amount of the food my mother made me for the evening. It wasn't badly cooked. Neither was I eating too fast. But I was sick. Twice. This has happened numerous occasions before. I have no idea why it happens. I wish I did. But then again, if I knew why that happened, I'd know more facts about my despicable body. Happy joyous times.

Secondly is sleep. Last night, I went to bed at about twenty past midnight. I woke up roughly an hour later. I found myself waking up, feeling all paranoid. Okay, I've had worse nights where I was physically shaking because I thought the writing on my walls were moving (I'll stick some photos up here in a new post if anyone either doesn't believe me or just wants to see the walls of my room). My mother thinks it is a lack of vitamins. How can a lack of vitamins do things like that to someone?

Yes, I know. I can't get away from food or sleep. I need both to live. but, by fuck does it annoy you when something like eating and sleeping turns on you and buggers up with your brain...

This part's just a filler for the next part, consider this the in-post interlude. I aplogise for the lack of ludes. But, for some reason, I've started to get into the music by the Police. I've been playing to this song for a while, as I murder both bass and vocal parts of this song. Such a good song, man...



But alas, I shall carry on.

Y'know that they say that everyone has a novel in them? Well, I think that's what people say. I've heard that saying before. But we're not here to discuss the origins of sayings (oh, and by the by, sorry if this post seems rather... shall we say, meh). Any-mr-potato-head, I don't think I have a novel in me. But I will say this. I do want to try my hand at writing comedy. Yes, that last sentence may well be one of the funniest things I've ever written. Damn, I've peaked too early...

But yeah, I wouldn't say no to writing something that people would consider comedy. It's the only genre that I can probably do. Every time I try to write serious stuff, I always cock it up with something funny. I don't even put it in, thinking it's funny. An example of this was when I had to write a 'letter to Jarvis to give my thoughts and opinions on the new school building' for my English GSCE coursework. I wanted to emphasise how narrow the corridors were. So what did I compare them with? Yes, umbilical cords.

I used umbilical cords in a comparison to the corridors to emphasise the claustrophobic feelings of those long pathways to individual hell-holes others may call classrooms. And I thought this was normal.

My English teacher told me I had to re-write it, as it was 'too funny for a letter'. Okay, I'm not piling everything on something I wrote three years ago, but it has got me thinking...

Are some people automatically attracted to one genre of writing than the others, in the case of writing?

Obviously, the answer is yes.

If you were to write a short story about cheese, and could take it anywhere you'd like, there's a massive chance that there's a hint of your natural genre in that text. Saying that, I have no idea about writing. Yes, I have this blog and I write a few stuff for Wicid (with a handful of them actually getting onto Clic), but they are just some stuff I write. Granted, it has my style of writing, but it's just that, a style of writing. Nothing in this blog (or the posts on Wicid for that matter) that I write isn't meant to bring you down in a barrel of laughs (and neither does it seem to succeed in that case).

I'm not saying about me writing pilots for comedy sketches. Neither am I thinking about doing stand-up (which, if I had the confidence and the material, I would consider, but as I have the natural comedy style and timing of a pig that's been circumcised with a coat-hanger, I think not). I just want to do some writing that people would at least chuckle. Maybe a written version of David Mitchell's Soapbox, where I just write opinions in a hope that someone will not just find humorous, but like it enough to come back an read newer posts again and again.

I'm not saying that's what David Mitchell's Saopbox is like. I actually like the vlog-type things he does. Like this one.



Well, that's me done for this time.

- One, two, three, four. I declare a FIN war.