Rude awakenings


When you wake up at entirely the wrong part of your sleep cycle and for the next hour feel like you’re wearing an invisible balaclava that was knitted by your Nan in the Fifties using itchy wool that was too heavy and needles that were slightly too large, so that your eyeballs themselves ache with longing for the loving arms and tender lunatic dreams of Morpheus, then it becomes problematic in the extreme to post a coherent status that makes sense without rambling on until the last syllable of recorded time, like a runaway train of the mind on which the brakes have failed and all the thoughts and ideas that are passengers thereon die screaming as the hard granite surface of the end of the sentence finally smashes into them.

Think I’ll have a nap.


About wombat37

A Yorkshireman in the green hills of Lancashire, UK Not a real wombat, obviously, or typing would become an issue. I do have short legs and a hairy nose, however. Oh, & a distinctive smell.

Posted on April 1, 2014, in Witter. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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