My invisible brain slug has again eaten the juices from the portion of my head usually charged with remembering to write the blog, so I best just wing it and hope I can get to the end on the last dregs of fuel. Along the route I will leave a trail of mixed metaphors, broken promises, empty McDonald’s boxes and ugly chunky overlong sentences that seem to have completely changed the topic of discussion at some point between the beginning and the end. Whatever happens, don’t you worry your pretty little head; I’m wearing goggles (for gogging), rubberised booties and a big purple helmet. I’m fully protected against any danger or accidental indiscretion.
And now we begin a gentle roll over the crest of the hill before gathering speed, hitting bumps, wobbling slightly before losing our balance and disgracefully arse over tit over ankle over elbow, crashing and falling down and down and down. Eventually we come to a rest, broken battered and bruised, but where we want to be at the bottom of the hill. We try to stand but the loose wobbly and crunchy sacks that used to be our legs are no longer viable as transport. All we can do is curl into a ball and hope the breakages heal before infection or starvation claims us for the Grim Reaper.
But on the bright side, it might all turn out jolly. I or we might finish this blog without tragedy or idiocy or offensive jabbering nonsense, and then we can all just get along with our lives splashing and flapping in a happy stream of peace. Wouldn’t it be lovely? Aye, t’would that, t’would that. You’re not wrong there.
Sometimes exhaustion and that desperate need for sleep cannot be fought any longer. My shitty fucking day job has one of these employee handbooks full of the tedious and the bleeding obvious. One of the rules forbids falling asleep at work. It warrants immediate dismissal. I’ve never fallen asleep at work before, but I expect it would be a sign of something going wrong in my life, physically or psychologically. I’m not at work now, and can barely string a thought together. In fact I can barely lift my head above keyboard-level and my eyelids above pupil-level.
In summation today’s blog started off pretending not to be about being tired, but hiding the fact poorly. Continued with a oddly depressing little story about falling down a hill and injuring oneself, made even more confusing by the first-person plural pronoun. Then there was another bit, and then it sort of dragged on until the inevitable conclusion here.