Sleepwalking my way through life: Bed time obstacles

Bed time obstacles

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She murmured a sleepy reply on the other end of the phone and I smiled.

“Yeah, yeah I will. I love you too. Night.”

I hung up the phone and lay on my bed for a few moments, thinking with a dreamy smile on my face. I looked round my room as I shifted position to my side, and just as I let my eyes close for a moment I sprung into action. My room was still a tip and I had no time to sleep. I threw some assorted items onto my bed, piling my headphones on top of my notebooks as I searched out clothes for the washing basket. I performed the smell test on each sock and shirt scattered around my room; fine, fine, musty, fine, musty, fine and what the fuck?

The hoovering was the next task. Thankfully both my mum and my brother were out of the house tonight, so no one could hear and complain of the hoovering noise that signified my raging social life. The machine roared into life and whined as it picked up the numerous stray hairs and threads which were strewn across my carpet. I had, thoughtfully, remembered to pick up any stray coins lying about to avoid a repeat of last time I cleaned my room.

All was going well; the room was a hairs breadth from spotless (unless you count under the bed. And no one counts under the bed) and I would soon be able to go to sleep. But my dreams of sleep were thwarted by my open window and shining light that attracted not one, but three moths into my humble abode. And with my aversion to creepy-crawlies, I just had to get rid of them.

Ah, the hoover! Swiftly I disconnected the nozzle from the base and wielded the long metal tube like a sword. I began chasing the moths around my room, valiantly trying to protect my sanctuary from such skin crawling invasions. The first two moths went down quick enough, sucked into the windy vortex of one of the eight patented Dyson cylinders, but the last one was proving tricky. It clung to walls, ceilings, lights; even my poor cuddly heffalump received a dose of moth rebellion before I finally captured it in a dust prison.

I turned off the hoover and performed a small victory dance round my room, raising the nozzle like some bizarre mixture of a trophy and a baton. It was then, during my third lap of the hoover base, that I noticed the smell. It was stale, sharp and it invaded my room, darting about from one place to another just like the moths did, spreading this indescribably… sickly smell. I looked down the tube and saw dried in chunks of vomit descending down into the hoover. I suppressed a gag as I remembered the events of earlier this morning.

I woke up this morning and slumped down the stairs; wondering blearily what day it was and maybe if the cleaner had come three days early to clean our house as evident by the numerous cleaning products on the landing. The thought was soon shunted out of my mind though as I reached downstairs and fell back into the couch. Chris was on the couch opposite and he began regaling me with his stories of the drunken escapades from the night before. How he mixed his drinks, how he was totally wasted, how he never quite made it to the bathroom when he arrived home…

And suddenly the cleaning problems had made sense. He had been sick in his room. Soon after he told me that story he went back upstairs to clean up the mess properly before the horrible smell permeated the house. The job was successful; the smell only reached the landing before it was beaten back with copious amounts of Oust (it was bordering on solvent abuse at one point) and I was happy.

But I was wrong. In an effort to clean up the insides that he had decided to expel, Chris had tried to hoover them up; resulting in myself gassing my bedroom with Oust (an odour neutraliser, by the way) and me coming downstairs at 3am to write about it.

That’s right Chris. This entry is your entire fault.
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At 3:30 am, Anonymous Chris said...

When I said I - as an ever constant source of torment in your life - shoud be mentioned more around here, ths isn't quite what I had in mind.

Oh, and just for the record, *I* didn't mix my drinks.

- Chris

At 5:05 pm, Anonymous Marie said...

All publicity is good publicity as they say.

At 7:30 pm, Anonymous Natalie said...

thanks for the comment. it was sweet :). im not glad im back. anyways, i thought ben and i had a good thing going as well, but we're 286 miles apart, and that just isnt going to work. but, yeah. thanks again.

<3 :]

Natalie (by the way, on my website i put my myspace cause i can never remember my link to my blogspot. sorry)


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