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