I am currently taking enough medication to make a medium size carthorse raise an eyebrow in gentle query.
One of the annoying side effects is sleep, or lack thereof. I am a blissful eight hours a night kind of chap, so getting between three and four hours, and then not feeling tired, is a bit odd. Amanda says that I'm acting a bit weird. I have bitten my tongue, to avoid acting a bit rude. I kind of reckon that no sleep and feeling manic would make one appear a tad odd.
So, 4.25 am, and Charlie comes belting into our room convinced that Satan and all of his little weevils are invading our house because the milkman zoomed passed at 3mph and woke him up. So he's crashed out on the floor in our room, and I've been pottering around the kitchen since, ooh, 4.35.am. Triffic.
I've stuck some photos on FB, made myself a tuna and egg salad for lunch later, had two cups of tea, checked the news, blogged, and even though it's not yet 7, I may even have a crafty fag.
Sleep deprivation, life on the edge.