Excuse Me, There's A Hyena On The Premises
Buy My House, Ease My Pain
Sleepy Days, Sleepless Nights
You Know You're On The Internet Too Much When ...
Excuse Me, There's A Hyena On The Premises
The hyena in question is me. I don't think I sound like a hyena. I think I have an infectious, joyous, admittedly somewhat dirty (though that's not necessarily a bad thing) laugh. But I think I have quite a pleasant singing voice, though I've had the unanimous opinion it's awful, so I could be slightly mistaken. If I sounded like I do in my head, that would be really nice, becuase my head-voice is great and so is my head-laugh. But no-one does, which is why I hate to have my voice recorded and then have to listen to it. It's loud and deep and I've been mistaken for my brother on the phone.
But. Laugh. My mother complains about my laugh when I'm watching any kind of comedy programme. (Well, not any kind. The good kind, which is actually funny. Like 'Friends'. I find 'Friends' funny. I laugh a lot during it. I get told off a lot for laughing a lot during it.) But this is not the strangest thing about my laugh. It has a tendency to just come out. I often collapse into hysterics for no apparent reason. Some people can trigger it off - certain people I won't name, but who know who they are due to the way I have taken one look at them and been incoherent for five minutes. Sometimes it's because something has happened in my rich and fascinating inner monologue which makes me smile, and then I see something that I usually wouldn't think was funny, but suddenly it seems like the most humourous situation I have ever seen.
People who have witnessed one of these incidents and stood, bewildered, going 'what are you laughing at, you big freak?', I hope this has proved enlightening.
Everyone who doesn't know me and is sitting going 'what are you talking about, you big freak?' This is what passes for normal in my little world. All my friends are even odder.
If my house was a person, it would currently be dealing with some very serious rejection issues. My parents have had it up for sale for like six months, and we've had an average of about one person a month round viewing it, and none of them have expressed absolutely any interest in wanting to own it. This is very upsetting (probably for the house, until it realises it's inanimate and isn't capable of that), but for me. I love my house. It's the only house I have ever lived in, it's big, I love my room, it's near everything, and right next to a bus stop so I don't have to walk for ages in the morning to get the bus for school.
However, my house is also on a main road and opposite a pub. Yes, it's a busy main road, but it's not that noisy. Yes, it's a huge pub, but it's not that busy. There's also a really nice, big garden. There is a bit of damp, and stuff is falling apart because it's old (plumbing, washing machine etc).
But my house has character. It's unique - this builder built it for his daughter's wedding present in 1914. It still has the thing for the servant's bells (no, they don't still work, unfortunately, and okay we don't have servants, but the means to call them is there should we acquire some). It's a nice house.
It's just no-one wants it.
This morning, I woke up at ten to six, thought it was ten to seven, didn't realise until the alarm didn't go off, and then couldn't go back to sleep because when it was actually seven and I had to get up, I wouldn't be able to. As it is, I wake up and spend half an hour in a semi-conscious daze. The other day - on a weekend, for God's sake! - a couple of friends had to get up at half six for their D of E practice, and I had some sort of sympathy waking up early. Again, no more sleep.
I did have one period of having chronic insomnia, but that was years ago, and now it's graduated to just a general, permanent feeling of tiredness all the time. But it goes away when I actually want to go to sleep.
I've just had two weeks school holiday, which should be a stellar opportunity to catch up on sleep. But it seems I really need the longer summer holiday period to get caught up, because I was still conditioned to wake up early.
Sod's law.
*This was pretty much whining. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible*
You Know You're On The Internet Too Much When ...
You close your eyes to go to sleep and your thoughts start appearing like they're on a computer screen. This happened to me the other night, and it was actually pretty scary. I know it was because of my computer, because after a couple of minutes of computer screen vision, it crashed.
I am spending too much time though - I was okay the first week we had it because I was on school holiday, but tonight and last night I've been on while I really should have been revising for my technology exam, seeing as I don't understand much of it. It's quite scary, how addictive it is.
I was shopping with my mother the other day, and ,though I had no money to justify looking at clothes, I noticed that this odd trend for asymmetric dresses and skirts has survived into another season. I'm sorry, but I just don't get this at all. It's not flattering to anyone. It just makes you look lopsided, and possibly this one is just if you have legs like mine, but who want's attention drawn to them, not only generally, but two specific parts of them? It's like my thing about lengths - neither skirt nor trousers should stop mid-calf or just below the knee. It emphasizes bits which, on most people, are not worth emphasizing.
When we went for lunch, we ended up buying stuff to eat in the car because everywhere was full. So I was in the drinks section. I don't drink fizzy drinks. My mother never gave them to me when I was a kid, so I don't like the taste now. However, practically the only choices in the shop were fizzy or one of those foil-wrapped fruit juices you would assume were for children if it didn't need the strength of ten men to get the straw through the hole. This is a mystery to me. I realise that it's unusual for a modern adolescent not to drink anything fizzy, but surely there must be some other people who don't?
I considered it one of my functions on this impromptu shopping expedition to prevent my mother, forcibly if need be, from unnecessary spending. God knows I'm an impulse buyer - I came home the other day with a skirt that, though lovely, is tighter than I would sanely choose on the grounds of I look like a heifer in it - but once my money's gone, I accept that; alright, desperately wait to see my nan because she'll give me some, which is mercenary, selfish and disgusting, but perfectly normal. Mum tells me we can't possibly buy anything with the same breath she expending walking over to eye up the sofas. We have a sofa. Okay, it's not a great sofa, but it still works (works? All it has to do is stop an ungraceful sprawl to the floor) and the woman comes home with a new throw for it every other week, so it looks fine. I just don't understand it. Perhaps a hunger for interior decoration comes with age, like wrinkles, though I can't, somehow, imagine waking up one morning with an irresistable desire for matching candlesticks and rugs.