Here at Chez Kate.
I can’t really afford it, but I slept for 4 hours last night and simply cannot find the energy to cook. I tried, I really did. I lay there on the floor in the lounge for a good hour trying to convince myself that cooking was worth the effort. Then I decided to get a Pizza.
I’m quite impressed that I managed to hold my shift together quite well today and that I managed to drive home without plouging into innocent pedestrians. In fact, the wall of tiredness I hit only really appeared after I’d got home.
As a result of yesterday’s Meme I’ve actually done the ‘random’ for a bit longer. It’s quite bizzare, tracks I’d long forgotten; tracks that friends gave me; it’s cool.
And in ‘other things that were cool’ I came home to find a little Royal Mail postcard in the porch. I thought ‘hrm’ as I thought ‘I need to collect that tomorrow’; then I flipped it over and in true Royal Mail tradition, scrawled on the back was ‘IN GREEN BIN’.
The green bin is for recycling; and was empty (apart from an oil-filter carton). I’m 5’7″ (on a good / tall day. I suspect I’m nearer 5’6″, actually); and so, stood in my work uniform – bike jacket on I dangled myself into the bin waving my arms around like a moron. I managed eventually to grab hold of it (I expect there’s video being shipped, right this moment, to some hidden camera type programme).
As I pulled it out I saw ‘Rachel…’ on the box. My WOOT! package from WOOT! Rachel had arrived WOOT! Letter, chokkie and music. I’ve got my hershey fix, along with some very weird ‘Dove’ chocolate. Dove make soap… but it looks like ‘Galaxy’ chocolate. Argh! It breaks my head…
I love getting letters, and letters from people I like a lot… that’s very cool too. I shall be writing back forthwith. So yes. That made up a lot for the feeling like I should collapse in a very-dead-heap of total-kate-shaped-exhaustion.
In other news, I’m tired.
No, I’m sure there’s other other news. Damnit. Erm. Well there is, but it’s protonews and I’m not sharing yet. Fuckit. I’m too tired. My eyes hurt at the mere concept of staying open and I think they might be sticking needles into my brain. I can’t really make much sense of written words. Perhaps I should sleep. No. Eat. Sleep.
