Monday, August 08, 2005

Tyred But Now Tired.

I am sleep deprived. And I am suffering the symptoms of sleep deprivation. Four times last week I was rude-serenaded by my Rumanian junk-retro, junk-shop, socially- deranged junk clock radio's buzzer at sparrow-fart-cough:"is it worth it just for that blind-slimy poor excuse for a breakfast?" time. Once at 4.00, twice at 3.00 and a barely believable 2.00 early on last week kicked off proceedings. It's been a hard week. And this morning was another whinge-worthy 3.00, though this one should be the last for a while.

My employers must believe that I'm at my best when I have to brain-strain to think cogent thoughts, or when I have to steel myself to get to the end of my spoken sentences without tripping over my tongue - which, when I'm tired, adopts a form of stubborn muscle stasis at crucial points. The twists, turns, gyrations, tip-elevations, groovings, and protrusions normally extracted from the kit-bag of my tongue, are packaged up with all their fricking fricatives and fallen pharyngeals and sent away on holiday until I'm alert enough to fly them back and return them to normal service. When I'm less tired.

My paymasters obviously don't mind it when I'm like this. Which I suppose is just as well.

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