I Crastinate like a Pro 

I hate my days off.

Up until a month ago my wife and I had the same days off work; Tuesdays and Wednesdays.  However, her shift changed and now she has the traditional Saturday and Sunday off.

To many,  the thought of having time off work without their significant other is a dream come true,  but there’s only so much I enjoy doing alone…and it’s getting really sore.

Now,  I hate to be sickly sweet here,  but my wife and I have an awesome marriage.  Spending time without her is like watching anything with the Kardashians in it; a pointless waste of time.  In addition,  Tuesday is the day I Skype my family back in England so my wife is missing out on that too.

I would love to say something hilariously sarcastic and biting about in-laws and how she’s dodged a bullet,  but alas…she really does love my family and vice versa.

I’m telling you, anyone looking in on our marriage from the outside is usually reaching for a bucket.

So,  today is Tuesday,  my wife left early for work,  and I Skyped my family at the normal prearranged times.  Due to the eight hour time difference,  the Skype calls are very early in the morning so,  historically (well,  for the last month at least),  I go back to sleep afterwards.  However,  instead of having a nap for a couple of hours,  I usually end up sleeping for ages and missing most of the day.

Either that or I end up down a YouTube rabbit hole and still end up doing none of the things I had planned to do.

Yet I always seem to end up sore.

This is all made worse by a fuzzy head usually brought on by oversleeping or concentrating on a screen without blinking.

Well,  today was going to be different.  Today I was going to do some washing [laundry],  tidy up,  go to the gym and get my hair cut. So today I set myself an alarm to only sleep for an hour.

Genius,  right?

Wrong.

Instead of only sleeping for an hour,  I decided to snooze button my way through four hours of sleep.

It’s become another typical Tuesday…or,  should I say ‘Snoozeday’? Huh?  Get it?  Snoozeday?  Anyone?

(holds up hand for a high five he will never get, and all that can be heard is the sound of crickets as a lone tumbleweed rolls by)

I don’t even have the time or the energy to get my hair cut.  This is an activity that involves me sitting down on the way to the Barber,  sitting down while they do all the work,  and then sitting down all the way home…and I still can’t be bothered.

Instead I’m slouched in bed,  looking at the clock and justifying to myself that I simply don’t have the time to do anything.

Well,  except write this post.

Priorities.

Now, where’s that box of tissues?

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Sleep, snot and testicles…a normal morning’s commute.

This morning’s blissful snooze on the train was disturbed by a man stood right next to my seat.

It wasn’t because his junk was unnervingly close to my shoulder, threatening to bump into me every time the train driver applied the brakes; it was because he kept sniffing.

Very loudly.

It sounded exactly like someone sweeping the road with a very hard bristled broom, using short and ear piercingly sharp strokes.

“Shhhhnniiiiifffschhkk!!”

Every 12 seconds, for around 35 minutes.

That’s 175 times I just wanted to punch him or shoulder barge his balls.

Eventually the train driver did it for me.

(shudder)

broom up ass

 

Sleeping, er, Beauty

‘Tap tap tap’

Zzzzzz….huh?

“We’re at Victoria”

Oh, er, thanks.

I love being woken, mouth open and dribbling, by a complete stranger on a carriage full of onlookers who are all stood up waiting to get off the train.

A great start to the day.

train sleep

Chew chew train 2

Some people have an inability to eat quietly.

I’m not an eating Hitler, but when you can hear the man open mouth chewing his apple from 3 seats away on a moving train…it does make you want to shove the fruit up his arse.

Or down the throat of the fat bloke who just won’t stop coughing loudly and with big heavy wheezes.

I’m loving my snooze on this train this morning, I really am.

image

Sex change?

I was all snug and comfy on the train this morning, starting to doze off.

However, two or three stops into my journey, a guy and a girl sat down behind me reeking of cigarettes and talking complete bollocks at a volume suitable enough to keep me and most of the 12 carriage train from sleeping.

Great.

But this isn’t about how loud they were or how pungent their aroma was….no, this is about what made me smirk when we all got off the train.

It seemed the deep, gruff manly voice belonged to the woman, and the higher pitched soft girly voice actually belonged to the guy.

He was also wearing more foundation.

No comment.

You snooze you lose.

This morning I did that rare thing of waking up a whole minute before my alarm went off. This instantly sent a rush of mixed feelings through me.

On one hand I’m as chuffed as chips that my body clock is so cool it can tell when I’m supposed to be getting up. If it had a voice it would casually lean over to me and smugly say “who needs a clock when I’m this good?”, but it can’t…so I’ll shut up.

On the other hand I’m deprived of that gorgeous sensation when you realise you’ve got hours left of sleep and can snuggle back into your warm pillow and rejoin your old maths teacher and her pet unicorn, Alan, as they try and navigate through your old school (which looks suspiciously like your place of work) en route to finding the washing machine that will finally clean the chicken you’re hoping to cook for dinner when Michael Jackson comes to visit.

(Dreams; they make no sense. They’re daft and ridiculous, and yet we don’t question or challenge them, despite most if us being intelligent and rationally minded individuals. No, instead we just blindly go with it. A lot like watching TOWIE really).

So I was a bit annoyed laying there in bed looking at my alarm clock as I knew that going back to sleep wasn’t an option. In 60 seconds or less I was about to be ripped from ‘Operation Chickenwash’ by some twat on the radio trying to be funny.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. (This minute is taking longer than usual)

And there it was. The loud and unfunny drivel from some mindless fool blaring out of my clock radio to remind me I had another exciting day in the office before the weekend.

I reach over, fumble a bit and -click-

The snooze button.

Aaaaaaaah, that’s better. See you in 9 minutes sucker.

By the way, why is it 9 minutes? Why not 10…or 8? I think it originated in Germany:

Klaus – “It is time to get up out of ze bed Hans”
Hans – “But I vant to sleep longer”
Klaus – “Ok, shall I vake you in a few minutes?”
Hans – “Nein”

I could be wrong of course…

But that said, I am the king of the snooze button, the lord of lazy, the duke of…well you get what I mean. At weekends I’ve been known to snooze for up to 4 hours. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. If only I could put a snooze button on people…that would be nice. Maybe I’ll have the word ‘snooze’ tattooed on my knuckles. At least I’ll get 9 minutes peace.

I then start doing that thing where I tell myself when I’m going to get up. It’s usually on one of the 5 minute intervals; for example…I’ll get up at quarter past. But then I accidentally snooze till 16 minutes past. Do I get straight up as promised? Do I fuck! Now I tell myself I’m going to get up at 20 past. But then the song on the radio is one of my favourites, so I’ll get up AFTER its finished and captain twat is back. Oh, but by then it’s 22 minutes past. Ok, I’ll get up at half past.

I was late leaving the house today.

Sometimes time just isn’t on your side…

Snoozing through the alarm – 20 mins
Showering, brushing teeth etc – 20 mins
Getting dressed and ready to leave the house – 10 mins
Realising I’m running late and might miss my train – minus 7 mins
Powerwalking the 20 min walk to the station in the rain – 15 mins
Finding out the train is 12 mins late anyway so I’m forced to stand on the platform in the rain, hot and sweaty, holding a brolly in one hand and updating my status with the other – timeless.

Arse.