Yes, I know I’ve got things to be doing; you know, stuff that has to be done, but I cannot summon up the enthusiasm or the energy to actually get up and do anything. That’s the problem, you see, when you log-on to your computer and start flipping around the various websites you visit on a regular basis. Time becomes less a reality and more of a concept.
Okay, so this is how it happened today: as usual, I couldn’t sleep due to my previously mentioned and tediously documented tussle with insomnia. Actually, if I may digress for a just a moment: I’ve started calling my insomnia Sonia. Why? Well, apart from the almost-similarity in the sound of the two words (c’mon, work with me on this one), Sonia was a woman I desperately wanted to go to bed with.
I didn’t want a relationship with her, just to jump her bones, but she was having none of it. Apart from the fact that she was married (only two years at the time and it was already falling apart) she was probably one of the least interesting people it had ever been my misfortune to come across. The damnable thing was that she had been blessed with a killer figure: petite with a cute ass, tiny waist and small-but-perfectly-formed breasts that my fingers just itched to caress. Her short auburn hair framed a doll-like pixie face with bright green eyes, a button nose and a Cupid’s bow mouth that the Gods had surely designed expressly to be repeatedly kissed? It was a pity They had not blessed her with a more winning personality. Anyway, insomnia is tiresome and boring and leaves you just wanting to go to bed. Sonia was also tiresome and boring and all I ever wanted to do was go to bed with her. Make sense now?
Anyway, back to the plot: so, as I was saying, I’d booted up my laptop, scooted through a couple of favourite websites and then opened the link in my favourites list to this one particular site. It was one of a plethora of websites for amateur writers to submit their own scribbles and ramblings to. The standard, though, in my humble opinion, on this site was way superior to pretty-much every other similar site I had visited. Being both a fan of amateur writing and a would-be best-selling novelist and future Poet Laureate I found myself reading, absorbing and, most of all, getting that creative itch back again. It would prove to be near-disastrous.
It was still dark when I opened the lid of my laptop. It was only when the first growls of hunger rattled around my body’s innards and my bladder virtually screamed at me to get off my butt and empty it did I realise that I had spent the better part of three hours perusing the varying standard of offerings on the writer’s website I had only intended to ‘pop in and browse’. I was mortified! I had things to do, places to go, people to see and be seen by… and I also had a headful of new ideas that I could not allow to get away from me.
What to do?
Well, the only thing I could do. Luckily - and I never, EVER thought I’d be saying that about the thing I am about to talk about! - I suffer with migraine headaches (another digression: where in the English language is there ANY word with the second letter ‘I’ that is pronounced ‘ee’? There isn’t one, I’m positive, so why the fuck do certain people insist on pronouncing migraine mee-graine? Jeez…) Really, I don’t get them often, thankfully, but when I do, hells-bells do I know about it! So, feeling more than a little guilty about my total absorption in the world of amateur literature, I made my excuses, by phone, SMS and email (don’t you just love modern communications technology?) for my failure to attend appointments, meetings and other calls upon my time and blamed a mild, but unpleasant, episode with a migraine headache.
There’s a funny thing about migraine; not funny ha-ha, but funny odd. You tell people you suffer with them and they are pretty much immediately sympathetic towards you. The thing is that more people think they get migraine headaches than actually DO suffer with them, so when you tell someone you’ve had a bout with one of the bastards they almost uniformly say something stupid like “I know how you feel”. Well, here’s the news, people: no you fucking don’t! Migraines are nasty, painful, depressing and debilitating. They affect everybody in different ways, so don’t you DARE to presume you know how I am affected by one of them, thank you!
Having had my reverie at the computer interrupted by guilt, hunger and an overwhelming need to visit the bathroom, coupled with the more pressing problem of how to b.s. my way out of my tardiness in the social engagements arena, after I’d done my nefarious duty to all who needed to be blagged and lied to, I found that I had the better part of the day to use up as I damn-well pleased.
And here I am, damn-well pleasing myself at the latter end of the day in much the same way as I started it. As mentioned earlier, all that reading put all manner of ideas into my head of things to write about, but only one so far has come to any sort of fruition.
Hope it was worth it.
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. Any similarity to what you’ve been getting up to is pure coincidence and not my fault. Please do not use this article in mitigation or as a form of defence should there be repercussions on you at a later date.