Dreams

Oh yes. The time has come again, ladies and gents. Nocturnality has occurred and now it's gotten so far out of hand that I reckon today is going to be another day that needs to be chased. I spent most of yesterday asleep, after that weird, short-lived, head-ruining illness that seems to have evaporated with the sunshine. Now, I am left with that difficult decision. Try and sleep and stay an owl. Or stay awake for as long as possible.

There are factors that decide this fate. 1) I have already tried to sleep for about 2 hours, with no success and very considerable interruption, which I may, or may not get into. 2) I have activity during the day to consider for this weekend and 3) Everything has suddenly revolved around the Cup Final. And yes, I do mean, everything.

To be fair, I don't do myself any favours whilst trying to get to sleep. I did sleep for 17 hours yesterday, (give or take a few due to weird shivering), and only awoke at the dizzy heights of 5pm, still with a headache. Given this, I was never expecting to go straight back to sleep but dreams of ambition and glory don't improve matters. I decided to TRY and get back to sleep at around 3.30am, as I reckoned this was late, (or early) enough. After wishing fellow insomniacs a good morning, I did nothing but lay there. For the first hour, I lay staring at the dark ceiling imagining that I was going to score the winning goal in this week's cup final. Obviously, given I am a keeper, this is near impossible. But the goal I was imagining was outrageous. It was a goal that Roberto Carlos would say, "Woah" to, and for those of you who are thinking, "Who?", just imagine greatness, concealed in a 5ft 5 bald Brazilian. Come 04.30, I may have just been drifting off, only to be half-awoken by the vibration of my old, 20th century mobile. There is only one person who can text me at this time, but it wasn't him. It was a number I did not know. I opened it...

No. I am not going to put it on here. This text was the height of awkwardness, of an Autumn episode that was long and drawn out and almost pointless, but to bring it back up now is almost unfair. Going to sleep with this monkey on my back is now nearly impossible. Sigh...

So, I am now subjecting myself to what should be a Nato approved form of torture. The worst thing to happen to any human, a day full of tiredness and fighting the urge to sleep. I will give in however, as with most things, at around 2pm, and probably make my nocturnal habit dip to a new level of low. I might well fall asleep in time for kick off come Friday.. Talking of the Cup Final, the anticipation, and more particularly, nervousness, isn't even coming close to last years. Last year, I was counting down the hours from about 3 weeks before, throwing up before, (and after), the match through nerves, (and maybe a bit of alcohol), and spent most of the match worried I was going to "do a Gomes". This year, (although there is still time for it to change), I am more worried about my back foot batting technique and the fact I still need to apply for University accommodation. Some would argue the latter is more important, but try telling that to an ever-enthusiastic Father Mitten!

I say all this, but my eyes still feel as if they are in need of a rest... I am going to have to make a decision of whether to go to sleep and wake up after a few hours or stay up for ever and ever. Knowing me, I'll choose, "Sleep now, and sleep forever"... Yep.