Nymphadora

I can never sleep on Saturday nights. I'm not sure why exactly but everytime I close my eyes something just happens and suddenly behind my eyelids there seems to be an explosion of light and instead of falling fast asleep I find myself sitting bolt up right in bed.

I hate that most of all because I can never get back to sleep. I used to get yelled at because of it because Mum was a miserable blighter at times but now that I don't I can just wander downstairs and do anything I want. It's kind of really fucking fantastic. Late night into early morning is my favourite time of the day and that Muggle thing, the T.V., is such a great companion. It brings pure escapism with it which is fucking corking, really.

And, God, Merlin or whatever, Star Wars...your life is not complete until you've seen Star Wars at three in the morning, pigging out on a large bag of cheese and onion crisps, with some ice-cream by your side. I know some people think life is but they are simply deluding themselves because of fantasies that things such as jobs, careers and happiness are enough. They're not.

I'm not being at all subtle. Just watch the damn movie. Trust me. It's so worth it.

It'd figure, really, that when I finally go to the shops to get some milk they're out. It's ridiculous. I rather think they conspire amongst themselves to be fully stocked up on milk whenever you're having an off day, or a busy one, and just don't have the time nor the inclination to pop down the shops and get two litres of milk. Then, when you do, they all turn against you. They have huddled around one another beforehand, making plans to ruin yours, and now they pounce upon you with their, "Sorry, ma'am, but we won't have anymore until tomorrow. You could come back then."

What bloody good is milk going to do me tomorrow? I certainly won't need it then. By tomorrow the lack of milk will have ate away at me and I will die a shrivelled, old, haggard looking woman, collapsed onto a heap on the floor because some wankers can't be organised enough to buy bloody milk. Ugh. Some people.

On a brighter note, tomorrow I'm taking Teddy to the park. Our back garden is getting much too restrictive for him and he keeps trying to climb over the back fence. I know, I know, it's ridiculous and I know he's too young to actually bloody do it but still. I don't like watching him and knowing he likely feels cooped up. I feel horrid.

Hence, I'll be skulking down the park the next opportunity I get. I rather think I'll spend an age trying to get Teddy to stop switching his hair. It's ridiculous how often a babe does it when he's fond of turquoise. At least now I know why Mum protests as much sometimes against me switching mine.

I still think it's indefinitely cooler than the brown though.

( Mockery )

( Meet me and I'll spill my guts, because I'm open to anything... )