I don’t handle humidity well. Actually, scratch that - I don’t handle humidity at all. So when I’ve had a 4th night in a row of about three hours sleep and it’s almost 40 degrees C the next day, let’s just say that this little chipmunk is not a happy rodent. Since I was utterly useless (I didn’t feel like putting on the a/c since it’s so noisy), I spent most of the day laying on the floorboards with a book in hand and a bottle of water in the other, alternating between that and watching various forms of Dylan Moran (Run, fat boy, run, shaun of the dead, monster, black books).
At some stage, the heat and lack of sleep must have wiped me out as I awoke from a nightmare (something quite rare as I rarely ever remember dreams), fingers clenched, nails digging into my palms, and wanting to scrub out my brain with a scouring pad and some bleach.
Why?
Because I dreamt that I saw Dylan Moran fellating a smurf, whilst cooking him an omlette (and we know he could do this as he really is that talented).
This tells me that:
- I need more sleep - and fast.
- I now want to hunt down a smurf and kick it in the head
- I need to stop inflicting such materials on my very impressionable mind - well, only when I’m that tired and my mental state that fragile.
Eurgh.
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We don’t know each other, but I found your blog through Kitchen Wench, and I just have to say, I am so glad my Dylan Moran obsession never resulted in a nightmare of him fellating a smurf.
His "Monster" gig -is- my favorite of his stand up routines, though. :]