Once upon a time, I drank a little wine…and managed to STAY AWAKE. These past few years, however, my ability to keep consciousness has deteriorated rapidly. Sure, I’ve had the occasional nap in a toilet cubicle in my teenage years but lately I have been chronically drowsy to the point of zombie in a pub or similar public arena. While everyone is in the smoking area, I am searching for a comfortable chair, or a taxi home. 24, people. I’m 24.
It seems that everything now has a soporific effect on me. Food. Drink. Heat. Public transport. Movies. S.O. suffers greatly as a result of my ineptitude at film-watching. I insist on embarking upon a new television series just as my eyelids are beginning to droop, determined not to succumb to premature slumber. I don’t think I’m as bad as Mama Bear, however, who is snoring before the opening credits of Sherlock roll, only to jerk awake halfway through and demand “Who’s that fella?!” ….”That’s Sherlock, Mam.”
Last week, I quipped that it should be called The Late Late LATE Show before realising just how uncool I had become. Further proof of this is how I now find it ludicrous that some places stay open past 2 a.m. To borrow a quote from How I Met Your Mother; nothing good happens after 2 a.m. That regrettable incoherent text you sent your ex? Wouldn’t have happened if you were fast asleep in your bed now, would it?! Dear God, I actually sound like a matron on night duty during wartime.
S.O.’s late night working schedule has enabled me to privately over-indulge in creature comforts in my spare time. Being the slovenly sloth that I am, I tend to spend the majority of my life in pyjama attire. I don’t mean sexy two-pieces with string tops and ass-skimming shorts; I am rocking over-sized flannels and man-retardant fleece. I have as yet avoided the purchase of a onesie for fear it will propel me further down an already slippery slope to full-on slob. On his nights off I try to rope him in, calling for ‘Jammies and Fluffy Socks!’ until he eventually admits defeat. He always protests at my infantile behaviour but a pair of my particularly woolly purple socks seem to have wound up in his side of the drawer and I certainly didn’t put them there.
We recently took a very grown-up trip to Homestore & More, in search of bedroom essentials. We spent a full hour picking the perfect duvet and bedcovers and remarking on the importance of a good pillow. I repeat, I’m TWENTY FOUR. I should be swinging from nightclub disco balls and having pregnancy scares, not pillow debates!
Anyway, I’d try and close with a snappy conclusion but this article was written at high speed due to my failure to stay awake and meet a deadline at a functioning human level. I need numerous naps. Goodnight.