Friday, 6 March 2015

Burning the midnight stream of consciousness....

1 hour, that's going to be the sum total of my sleepage tonight.....I've resigned myself to it. If 35 minutes of listening to universal mind meditation followed by an Everly Brothers greatest hits session doesn't get me off to a blissful thought vacation, nothing will. So the only left to do is fill my Darth Vader bucket with strong coffee and plough on into the early's going to be a long day.

The blame for this insomnia lies purely on the shoulders of my daughters bad tummy, which was obviously a figure of speech.....tummy's don't have shoulders, would be a whole new way of life. When she woke me up I genuinely felt pretty good, if I'd looked at the clock and it had said 7am I would have been fine with that. Why then, did the fact it said midnight immediately start making me feel tired and negative? Is it the lack of sleep that's making me tired or merely the thought that I should have had more? Maybe we don't actually need more than an hour.....maybe anymore is bad for us, somebody alert The Express, they love this kind of shit. Like when you wake early, feel great, go back to sleep and wake up again feel really grotty....what's all that about?

Anyway, so no sooner am I awake, I'm expected to perform medical procedures on my little girl. When I say medical procedures, I mean to insert calpol into her tiny yet incessantly noisy cakehole. What makes it feel more like a procedure is that Calpol has suddenly decided that parents and children can no longer be trusted to use a plastic spoon, so they provided me with a syringe to inject it down her throat like an exocet missile. I felt less of a dad and more of a veterinarian seeing to a stricken animal. Another gripe I've got is that medicine used to be medicine, now it just tastes so yummy, they probably would probably class it as a treat. Medicine should be yellow gloop and taste of nothing you've ever tasted before......consumption of it should feel like an event you'll remember forever, a story to tell the grandchildren.....but no, now it's just yummy, like a Nurofen laced Sunny D. Broken britain strikes again.

It's not all doom and gloom though, I've just had the news through I've been waiting for. Chillichick1975 'wants to meet' me, even though she lives in Arbroath, so that's something to lift the soul, if nothing else. I'm finding dating quite scary at the moment....after the initial few dates where I became as clingy as a leach on heat to anyone who seemed to overlook by legendary plebbery, came the halcyon days of not giving a shit what anyone thought of me, the epitome of a good catch, I think you'll agree. Lately though, I can barely contain my lack of enthusiasm, if I'd known my stint of online dating would reach 3 years, I'd have gotten myself sponsored. Seriously, it's more emotionally taxing/time consuming and soul destroying than anything Ian Botham has ever achieved and he's the one with the bloody knighthood. If I don't get a least an OBE for services devoted to the undateables in the next honours list, I'm going to be furious. My name should be up in lights.

You see, when you start off, it's all fun and games. Then, you start building up a hall of shame who occasionally take turns to pester you. Receiving a text from an unknown number that you're relatively sure is one of these shame inducing conquests initially renders you pretty pleased with yourself. "Yeah, who's the daddy, look who's come back for more......they just can't get enough of Nicky's noodle", I'll say to myself (I completely made that you really think I'd admit to thinking anything of the sort?). Inevitably though, (in my case anyway) the self-gloating glee-fest quickly turns to emotional turmoil in those agonising few moments before opening said message, as my paranoia advises me that she's probably going to tell me she has Aids. I start praying to myself that she's just texting to inform me that's she's merely pregnant, with triplets....taking her tally to 10 from 8 different dads, leaving me with the consolation that at least my spunk was more powerful than the other magnificent seven. Every cloud.

Not that Aids is scary anymore, I'm probably giving it the praise it so scantily deserves, how the mighty have fallen. Gone are the scary public information video's, depicting monolithic gravestones, womanising would never be the same again.....yet nobody ever talks about it anymore. Are we to assume that it only lives amongst the gay community and houses itself in crack dens on dirty needles? In 2015, Bobby Beale is scarier than Aids. Nobody saw that coming, did they? The fall from grace of Aids, I mean, not the conclusion to the whodunnit of the century. Frankly, I'm getting sick of "whodunnits", they're ridiculous. Who the hell cares about Lucy Beale, the whole storyline makes the "Who shot JR" saga rank up there with the JFK assassination. Anyway, it does make you wonder, diseases that kill hundreds of thousands on an annual basis get overshadowed by something that hasn't even made it to the UK, Ebola. It says something about our new-found lack of tolerance to fear, probably due to media-mitigation, that as soon as a new illness surfaces,  panic sets in and the media soon ramp up the tension to Defcon 1. Get ebola and you're on the front page of every newspaper in the country, anyone who flies into the UK with the illness gets treated and greeted at Heathrow with attention and fanfare not seen since a Beatles homecoming, circa 1967. It won't be long until Ebola starts getting to big for it's petri dish and declares itself "bigger than God".

If I ever do contract a potentially fatal and incurable disease, I want ebola......or more ideally, the next big thing, whatever that'll be.....bigpox, spaniel flu, maybe even a bout of black death, I do love a nostalgic disease. If I do get a trendy one, at least I'll die famous, that's the order of the day these days isn't it? I'll probably be shunned by the public, jealous of my new-found-albeit-soon-to-be-short-lived fame, but it'll be worth it. Maybe they'll start a social media based challenge in my name, the NLT boiling kettle of water challenge, perhaps....let's raise the stakes shall we? Is it worth making a joke about it going viral? No? Okay then. I'll probably get lumbered with some shitty disease that nobody cares about anyway and die of shin-splints or something equally as pathetic, even my death will be a pitiful whimper. One can only fantasize of going out in a blaze of glory, literally.....I've always been fascinated by spontaneous human combustion, it's due a comeback. Got that, grim reaper? SHC for me it is. 

I wonder who get's more mail in this age of depression and misery, the grim reaper or Santa......? Maybe they're the same person and the jobs have merged due to cutbacks, austerity rules. Okay, I have literally no idea what I'm talking about anymore. 

Goodnight......good morning.....whatever.

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