Tuesday, 10 January 2012

My sleep brain is just as bad.

My mother's in the country today so I'm off to spend a couple of hours with her before she disappears on a train. 

The thing is, I'm knackered. I seriously OD'ed on the girly night thing with Housemate-Anna last night and neither of us went to bed until about 2am. 

This resulted in both of us dragging our arses out of bed this morning at 7am and opening our bedroom doors to face each other, both wearing the same expression on our faces... "It's your fault I'm this tired."

We rarely go into work together as Housemate-Anna was sensible about where she chose to go to work and didn't pick a place that takes an hour and a half to get to. However, today she had to get in early so we both trudged out in the dark, scowling that we had to be up before the sun even bothered to show itself. 

The rare train journeys we do get together are usually quite chatty, however either we wasted everything we had to each other last night or we were silently resenting the other for our tired state now, but we were oddly silent this morning. 

Things picked up around half nine this morning when I had finished my third cup of double shot coffee and was starting to receive that familiar buzz of being enhanced by an addictive drug. 

I have to admit I'm a little nervous to fall asleep tonight. The extremely disturbing dreamworld that I have has been on top form. 

Last night was a random one. I dreamt that Meryl Streep acting as Margaret Thatcher went to the same dinner party as me. For some reason she wanted to meet me, I couldn't fathom why until she came up to me and hugged me. Suddenly she smelt exactly like my Grandma and of course that meant that she was my Grandma. It got all emotional and teary from then on, involving me ringing up my whole family to tell them that Grandma was secretly Meryl Streep dressed up as Margaret Thatcher. Most people took my word for it as most dream people tend to believe stuff like that. Some however needed to come and smell Meryl/Margaret themselves to believe it. 

Where it gets even more bizarre is that I couldn't tell you what my Grandma smelt like. Except that when I smelt it there was no doubt in my mind. Where did that memory come from? Can a smell be deemed as a memory? Does it have another name? A smellmory perhaps? ...
I bet heinakroon would know. 

One thing I do know is that massive poster of Meryl Streep in "Iron Lady" at my train station is screwing with my mind. 

Peace out my lovelies. 

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