August 5, 2009
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Oh, my poor little blog. How I have been neglecting you. If it's any consolation, it's not because I don't love you any more. Of course not. Its just that I've been very, very busy; Londonist gets my lunchtimes and for some reason, all my time has been disappearing down a large hole for the last few weeks (months?). I haven't even been reading other people's blogs, really. I've been neglecting a lot of things. I know that doesn't make it better.
Me and m'companion in the Arts were at Robin Ince's School for Gifted Children on Monday and, during his talk, Ben Goldacre suddenly paused, looked at the audience and wondered if any of us had ever been so tired that we could just vomit up a perfectly round sphere? I'll be honest; no, I hadn't. Then. Today, as I sat at a bus stop in East Dulwich waiting to go to Forest Hill to buy kitchen flooring, I got it. It's when you are so tired in body and mind that you start to collapse in on yourself, and the idea of puking out the tiredness – something rising out of your physical being instead of being pulled down – feels like a sensible option. Anyone else? Or is it just me and the good doctor?
So how the hell have I got myself into this state? It's not like I'm doing anything particularly important. I'm not studying for exams, or doing life-saving research, or something else that's really critical and intensive that I can't think of because I'm so fricking tired. I have been doing a lot of running around at lunchtimes and after work, and my parents arrived at midnight on Thursday for their month long escape from the Spanish August heat so I've been sleeping on the sofabed since and trying to stop Dad from giving himself a stroke by attempting to repaint my entire flat in one afternoon. On Monday, my parents went to Canterbury for a few days and were replaced by the carpenter who's come to put up some new kitchen cupboards and replace my worktops and sink. So the house has kitchen detritus scattered across it and is covered in dust and bits and there's no point cleaning it yet; I have the sinking knowledge that tomorrow I have to clean every single thing remaining in there, fill in some holes left from work done a year ago and hopefully start painting so there's one less thing for my Dad to leap on when he gets back. And a bunch of other stuff to be worked out to a fairly strict timetable so they're done by a certain time / don't clash with other things.
Ugh, it's just so dispiriting to already be tired and faced with things you simply cannot leave until later. And you see, blog, I've felt like this for about the last month. I am either going to vomit all my tiredness or weep it from my eyes quite shortly. I don't think it's going to go any other way.