More specifically, another one of those odd mornings. The way the day pans out as a whole really does seem to follow in the footsteps of the first hour. Which will make for a surreal day today.
Yesterday, I woke up, and before doing anything else, studied. That determined the themes for the day. Speed and efficiency. The study section I had to complete I had already pretty much studied in another course, and so took me no time at all. A phone call to my mother that would usually take several hours, took only a few minutes, as she was about to go out. My drinks disappeared at a greater rate than I had anticipated. And so on.
Today I woke up to the 6am alarm, and for a good ten minutes whilst stirring the porridge, had to sieve through a heap of memories, straining half into the 'that was me' section, and the rest into the 'no, that was a dream' section of my mental boxing system. Once boxed, it became apparent that I am once again dreaming normal. Which leads to utter confusion. Dreaming normal is the term I give to dreams that give the memory of having completed (sometimes important) day-to-day tasks. It hasn't happened for a while, but I used to regularly screw up because I was unaware that I hadn't completed a task. Now I have a fairly accurate filter system, provided I concentrate on separating my reality from my sub-conscious as soon as I wake. This morning, despite my brain trying to fool me into thinking otherwise, I established that I had not completed the impending iCMA, written my blog, broken the laptop, or juiced our entire fruit supply. I also didn't book tickets to go to a bluegrass festival on my own. So a mixed bag really. As far as the festival goes, although it wasn't thought of with my conscious knowledge, I'm not going to dismiss it just yet. Sometimes I come up with very good ideas behind my own back. Or behind my own eyelids, whatever.
Following on from that, the phone rang, and for some unknown reason, I answered it in the voice of what can only be described as an Australian gangster. Given that it was a call from a professional, the only logical way out of the situation that I could see at the time, was to pretend to go and get myself. So, alone in the house, I had a brief, but nonetheless ridiculous conversation with my alter ego, who I now discover, is slightly intimidating.
By this point I had concluded that the theme for the day was likely to be 'odd'. This means not only will odd things happen, but I will think more oddly than usual. Which is odd in itself, because I am not known for my normal thinking patterns as it is. Perhaps I could odd myself normal again.
I should be tired but I'm not. I'm buzzing. My hands and feet are tingling, and I keep having to jump out of my chair and run up and down the stairs. I can't sit still. My doctor tells me that this pins and needles sensation throughout my entire body is a common symptom of severe anxiety. That was quite a relief at the time, as I was a little bit concerned that I had some major problem with my nerve endings. But I don't feel anxious right now. I do feel full to the brim with adrenalin though.
My cat had a full blown fight with my sock this morning. It was an orange and black stripey one, and for the short period that they were rolling around the room, I had the heart stopping moment of thinking that he had somehow caught a deadly snake. Working backwards, that could have sparked my fight flight response, which could be held accountable for my adrenalin fuelled jitters now. It could also feasibly explain the unexplained Australian accent. After all, it is home to some particularly scary snakes.
That reminds me of a story my Uncle told me ages ago. He had me crying with laughter. Not because the story was utterly hilarious, though it was funny, but it's the way he tells it. In a really really slow and boring way. And with no change in tone or volume, apart from making every sentence into a question at the end, as Australians are prone to doing. I can't explain why I find him so funny, but I do. Perhaps it's the British seriousness in an Australian accent. Perhaps it's just me, and my sense of humour. Incidentally, the story was basically a very drawn out description of how he spent an excessively long time creeping up on a very poisonous snake with a rake, or similar gardening tool, only to discover, after significantly increasing his chances of heart failure through sheer terror, he had in fact captured his own hosepipe.
It's possible that the odd mental state that I have found myself in is a result of dehydration, thinking about it, so I'm going to go and make a drink. Then I guess I ought to get on with this next section.
Another one of those mornings
More specifically, another one of those odd mornings. The way the day pans out as a whole really does seem to follow in the footsteps of the first hour. Which will make for a surreal day today.
Yesterday, I woke up, and before doing anything else, studied. That determined the themes for the day. Speed and efficiency. The study section I had to complete I had already pretty much studied in another course, and so took me no time at all. A phone call to my mother that would usually take several hours, took only a few minutes, as she was about to go out. My drinks disappeared at a greater rate than I had anticipated. And so on.
Today I woke up to the 6am alarm, and for a good ten minutes whilst stirring the porridge, had to sieve through a heap of memories, straining half into the 'that was me' section, and the rest into the 'no, that was a dream' section of my mental boxing system. Once boxed, it became apparent that I am once again dreaming normal. Which leads to utter confusion. Dreaming normal is the term I give to dreams that give the memory of having completed (sometimes important) day-to-day tasks. It hasn't happened for a while, but I used to regularly screw up because I was unaware that I hadn't completed a task. Now I have a fairly accurate filter system, provided I concentrate on separating my reality from my sub-conscious as soon as I wake. This morning, despite my brain trying to fool me into thinking otherwise, I established that I had not completed the impending iCMA, written my blog, broken the laptop, or juiced our entire fruit supply. I also didn't book tickets to go to a bluegrass festival on my own. So a mixed bag really. As far as the festival goes, although it wasn't thought of with my conscious knowledge, I'm not going to dismiss it just yet. Sometimes I come up with very good ideas behind my own back. Or behind my own eyelids, whatever.
Following on from that, the phone rang, and for some unknown reason, I answered it in the voice of what can only be described as an Australian gangster. Given that it was a call from a professional, the only logical way out of the situation that I could see at the time, was to pretend to go and get myself. So, alone in the house, I had a brief, but nonetheless ridiculous conversation with my alter ego, who I now discover, is slightly intimidating.
By this point I had concluded that the theme for the day was likely to be 'odd'. This means not only will odd things happen, but I will think more oddly than usual. Which is odd in itself, because I am not known for my normal thinking patterns as it is. Perhaps I could odd myself normal again.
I should be tired but I'm not. I'm buzzing. My hands and feet are tingling, and I keep having to jump out of my chair and run up and down the stairs. I can't sit still. My doctor tells me that this pins and needles sensation throughout my entire body is a common symptom of severe anxiety. That was quite a relief at the time, as I was a little bit concerned that I had some major problem with my nerve endings. But I don't feel anxious right now. I do feel full to the brim with adrenalin though.
My cat had a full blown fight with my sock this morning. It was an orange and black stripey one, and for the short period that they were rolling around the room, I had the heart stopping moment of thinking that he had somehow caught a deadly snake. Working backwards, that could have sparked my fight flight response, which could be held accountable for my adrenalin fuelled jitters now. It could also feasibly explain the unexplained Australian accent. After all, it is home to some particularly scary snakes.
That reminds me of a story my Uncle told me ages ago. He had me crying with laughter. Not because the story was utterly hilarious, though it was funny, but it's the way he tells it. In a really really slow and boring way. And with no change in tone or volume, apart from making every sentence into a question at the end, as Australians are prone to doing. I can't explain why I find him so funny, but I do. Perhaps it's the British seriousness in an Australian accent. Perhaps it's just me, and my sense of humour. Incidentally, the story was basically a very drawn out description of how he spent an excessively long time creeping up on a very poisonous snake with a rake, or similar gardening tool, only to discover, after significantly increasing his chances of heart failure through sheer terror, he had in fact captured his own hosepipe.
It's possible that the odd mental state that I have found myself in is a result of dehydration, thinking about it, so I'm going to go and make a drink. Then I guess I ought to get on with this next section.