Jan 7, 2014


I am at that awkward stage of a relationship, dear readers. Not awkward for the actual relationshippy part, no no, for the routine part. See, this is why I fear change.

A couple of nights ago I had lovely spoony cuddles and everything was good ever and I could not sleep for even a moment because in the famous words of Jenna Marbles, "What are this?" I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. You know how your night life for the past ten or so months has been a flurry of adult onesies, eating junk food you invented in your microwave at 2am in bed, and sending far too many snapchats of your dog to your friends? No, I don't either, not at all, but imagine for a moment that your spinster/bachelor style resembled something to this effect. And then you got into some sort of a relationship thing. Just go ahead and picture that for a moment.

So now we are in the magical stage where things are not entirely concrete, and so sleeping arrangements are in a constant limbo land. Which is magical, so long as you would like to sleep never. Two days ago I could not sleep because there was spooning and not nearly enough junk food nor dog hair at 3am. Now I cannot sleep because there is a tiny dog farting on the pillow next to me and snoring instead of a lovely human thing, and because I ate way too many chocolate finger biscuit things while watching other video things on youtube. THIS USED TO BE MY SLEEP ROUTINE, DAMMIT!

Brain, are you listening? It is 2.30am. There will be no nice human spooning tonight. Please, kindly...

The dog has always made those noises. Those smells are bedtime dog smells. The onesie is your standard national sleep costume. Why, body, why? I am now requesting external advice for how the heck you go to sleep during bachelor-transition mode. Is there some sort of a book I can read? A program I can join?

Also this is pretty much what I feel like I'm doing on the internet right now.

Will I ever learn? What are these feels? What are feels? How do I even? This is silly body, shut up. Body, return to your original programme of 3am mug brownies and The Vampire Diaries in bed until the situation can be better assessed. Just. JUST. CALM. THE. FUCK. DOWN. Stop talking and back away slowly from the internet machine. Good. Very good. Oh. Oh dear.

Send help.

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