If you’ve had more than 3 hours sleep last night, stop reading. This isn’t for you. In fact, don’t even look at me with those wide eyes of yours. I hate you right now.
Get back to your productive day and leave the rest of us alone. I need to be with my people today.
People who understand me. People who are also slurring their words through exhaustion. Words that don’t quite exist yet. Words that aren’t even in the right order.
Some of my sentences today have taken the same narrative approach as Pulp Fiction, all jumbled up and hard to fathom on a first viewing.
Unfortunately this isn’t 1994 and I’m not Quentin Tarantino - it’s 2015 and without context I’m just a pale-faced freak trying to order a treble-shot latte while not making eye contact with anyone.
I can normally function to some degree on anything above three hours sleep. Below that is like cranking the difficulty level for life up from rookie to professional.
Today I had to navigate a train journey that I’ve never made before. You may as well have asked me to swim the Atlantic using only my ears to paddle.
When I got to the station, the queue for tickets was even longer than the queue for Greggs so I knew I was in trouble. I joined the back and tried to see if I could buy them online any quicker. But trying to use my iPhone was like trying to complete a Rubix Cube without using my hands.
People dallied and did my head in. I silently wished hemorrhoids on a dithering young student lad who simultaneously had more hairstyles than I’ve had in my entire life.
Then I got to the top of the queue and in front of the window the pressure kicked in. I froze like an English penalty taker in a World Cup shootout.
The women in the ticket office must have been half-Klingon because she actually understood my mumbled request. She was very helpful but I was late so took an unnecessary dislike to her. She handed me the tickets and told me the platform but my brain treated this important information like spam and filtered it straight into the junk folder of my subconscious, alongside my PIN number and last known location of my car keys.
And suddenly I’m running aimlessly through the station at full pelt. I didn’t know where the hell I was going. I just knew I had to get there quickly. Like a toddler chasing birds at the park I sprinted past people with all the control of a cheap remote control helicopter in the wind.
I arrived at Platform 8 and was looking for Platform 12. My train left Platform 6.
I trudged back to Costa and ordered more fuel.
I'm a stand up comic and new dad to twins. You can click here to follow me on Facebook where I post all my blogs, memes and other blatherings about parenthood. (Or go to the top right of this page)