NOCTURNAL RAMBLINGS OF A MIND UNPLUGGED
It is so boring not being able to sleep, and I get so tired during the day and then I want to drink coffee because coffee has that turbo effect on me but I know that coffee is the recipe for another sleepless night. A good coffee after 11am will guarantee me a few hours of turbo charged energy in the afternoon, but then I’ll come down from the turbo thing and I’m tired but don’t dare have another fix and still I can’t sleep when I go to bed. Doesn’t really make any sense to drink coffee after 11am but sometimes it’s the only thing to help me through a really turbo charged day. The other thing, of course, is that I like coffee.
I like to have a green tea with honey and lemon in the morning, accompanied by a double espresso chaser. It’s the anti-occidental turbo charged way to start the day. Someone once told me that drinking coffee makes you age faster. How on earth is that possible? People like to talk a lot of crap. I find it’s best not to dispute. Just say ‘really’? and then hope they will shut-up and go away.
I was in the pharmacy the other day buying those make-up wipes that make taking the war paint off easy. This woman who I don’t know gave me a full lecture on why the brand I was buying wasn’t good. Can you imagine such a thing? I mean, it’s my brand, and I find it perfectly good. But I didn’t stop her. Even the sales assistant paused to listen to her. I think I was fascinated by her manic-ness. She was really manic. I think she was probably taking anti-depressants. I took antidepressants once and they turned me into a basket case. Won’t do that again, although if I don’t get a good night’s sleep soon I’ll be a basket case anyway.
That’s why I’ve been so pissy lately. It’s lack of sleep. That poor guy from the swimming pool company didn’t come back. He sent his colleague. You know, I’m not one to pounce on the labouring classes, really, I’m not, but the colleague was hot. I could have done a full on Chatterley there. Well, actually, nah, he earns coins. But then again, it’s not like we’d be hitting Auberge Michel together, so what the hell.
What is it about money that makes women think that men who have it are sexy? Oh, yeah, they look great in the Hugo Boss, but often they’re arrogant, self centred, ungenerous, and lazy in bed. They’re generous enough with stupid things like bottles of champagne and perfume, but you can buy that for yourself. Well, the Cristal was nice, and it definately melted my ice. But, the thing is that that’s the thing. They’re generous with the things you can do for yourself; or maybe it’s just me. I mean, that’s the way they are with me. Maybe I’m too old. I mean, lets face it, I’m not going to be creating mini-me’s for anyone. Maybe I’m just over the hill, therefore no longer deserving of an extra something sumpn’. Bullshit, I deserve to be treated like a friggin’ empress.
My girlfriends say I’m too intolerant. Why should a man go out with an intolerant, high maintenance, older woman with substantial hips, when he can have a hot-like-FHM sexy 20whateveryearold who is happy to get a bottle of champagne and who thinks HipHop is still couture. I won’t even carry handbags with logos all over them. How are his friends going to know how much money he’s spent on me? I’m not the trophy girlfriend.
My girlfriends don’t have a whole lot of respect for men. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? I mean they’ve lived through men – they’ve been married and divorced, some of them several times. They’ve been through the abusers, the philanderers, the marrieds, the leeches, the poachers, the can’t get it ups, the drunken has beens, the ‘I still got it’ recent divorcees, they’ve had ’em all and there is nothing new in this fair land of ours. They’ve even tried the toy boys, but toy boys are so unsatisfactory. They’ve got the stamina all right, but there’s no technique. They make you feel like a sex instructor. You don’t want that, do you? You want to be skilfully guided into multi-orgasmic bliss, don’t you?
If I can’t sleep, and I can’t, maybe it’s time to get a lovely man to be next to me. Well, actually, maybe not. He will sleep, you can be sure. Men pomp’n’sleep, which means I’ll have to get up at night instead of doing as I’m doing, comfortably sitting up in bed writing, with some unwatchable trash on tv creating background noise so I don’t feel the emptiness of the hour quite so acutely. A man won’t put up with that. – A dog, then.
I came back from somewhere far in the wee small hours a few weeks ago, and I really missed snuggling into bed next to that someone who was delighted to see me and wanted to make love immediately and then cuddle me and listen to the tales of my trip. That’s what you want a man for, isn’t it? Not for champagne, but for the things you can’t do for yourself. I’ve bought myself diamonds, they were nice, but also kind of, so what. I sold them.