My sleep pattern is all topsyturvy again. I suspect I’d’ve slept through the night if it hadn’t been for Tucker dramatically and noisily trying to burrow under the duvet with his comedy cone of shame at 2am. So here I am, blogging like an idiot.
I lay there in the dark for ten minutes wondering whether I fancied tea, toast, a fagatthebackdoor or a rootle through the lidless Tupperware box of pharmaceuticals that lives atop the fridge. (I moved it there after worrying that Tucker would develop opposable thumbs and work out how to open the kitchen drawer and carefully unscrew all the lids off the bottles in the same way I worried that he’d open the kitchen cupboard where the bleach lives and unscrew the childproof and adultproof top off the bleach with his overevolved wee paws before drinking it, god forbid).
Bringing up Tucker has been a rockier road than bringing up two humans; my approach to child rearing was gung-ho at best – I shudder to think what their upbringing would’ve been like if mobile phones and the Internet had been around in the olden days, when I was breeding.
So I staggered to the kitchen for a rootle at 2am, stopping only to stand on the upturned Hoover plug, trying to decide what pharmaceuticals I might be in need of in the same way you ask in a pub what flavour crisps they have so they rattle off a comprehensive list “salt and vinegar, cheese ‘n’ onion, ready salted, Worcester sauce, tomato ketchup…” and you go “have you nae smokey bacon?” I necked a couple of Kalms if you must know.
I suspect my teatime nana nap did me no favours. I fell asleep at 6, knowing full well I’d to be at a thing by 7, at which I may have been required to deliver some opening remarks. Full of faux bravado, I set my alarm for 630, and emboldened by the power nap, snoozed it for another ten minutes. Finally woke up in a bit of a panic at 640 going “FUUUUCK! FUUUUUCK!” to myself and basically jumped in the car. Rocked up to The Thing all crabbit and shrill at 7, tutting at everyone and being unreasonable.
Things I hate today:
1. When a thing starts at 7.30, why do people turn up at 7? There’s nothing guaranteed to make me passive aggressively look at my imaginary watch and loudly proclaim to anyone within earshot “what time do we kick off again? Oh 730? And what time is it now? Oh it’s only 7? Righto”
2. When I’ve hummus in the fridge but nothing to dip in it. Yes I’ve carrots but nobody needs that level of negativity on a Sunday morning. Raw carrots. Nah.
3. Standing on upturned plugs