Good evening, blog perusers and Internet accomplices.
I hope this post finds you in good health, with your brains resting in the soft covers of your fluffy, feather-filled headrests that I like to call pillows. Other terms that can be used are: head-cushions, brain comforters, forehead squash-bags, cranium sacks, and noggin-chairs (these terms are expressly in their use for the highest part of the human body. For heel-pouffes, please refer to the term foot-cushions).
I, on the other (and infinitely less fortunate) hand, am suffering from a mild bout of insomnia. This is because I have been, most disconcertingly, dozing off all over the place today, and as such have regained my strength through putting my neck through many nodding-off-then-being-unceremoniously-woken-up exercises. Trust me, friends, you are not alone, for today we shall delve into that wonderful world in which you feel yourself fly, accumulate large amounts of wealth with a simple flick of your finger, ride a neon-yellow coloured elephant as tall as the Empire State building, and, especially in my case, sit on a bus without any hassle: the world of slumber, rest, relaxation, and the occasional dream in which your penchant for your favourite celebrity is no longer hindered by policemen, gates, or sweaty bodyguards.
You have experienced, I am sure, the spaced-out gaze which causes mild drooling and the very hazardous self-projection of insanity. I am no stranger to this. What I can never be accustomed to, however, is the audacity of some individuals. Here you are, staring out into the depths of your room, oblivious to the sounds and sights around you, not really thinking of anything, when suddenly, a snapping noise of clicking fingers interrupts your musings, and a hearty chuckle on the intruder's part, fully-equipped with a tremulous "Heh, heh, you were really zoned out, weren't you?" Of course, you will reply with a polite chuckle and a half-hearted apology, but the real thing you yearn to say is: "Yes, you dim-witted, worthless pile of coyote droppings, I was. Until you butt in."
I agree, friends, it is never a situation in which one hopes to be found. More astounding, however, is the tolerance that you experience from your fellow stranger, in most cases. At this time, I do not refer to mere blank-expressioned eyes, but to a much more startling reality. The dreaded Nod-Off-Contestation (NOC). The NOC can occur at any time, when you least expect it. I, unsurprisingly, have encountered this most during my frequent trips aboard the public-transport-express; it is rather horrifying, and let me explain to you why.
Picture this: 7:09AM. You have hardly slept a wink and must now face a 1.5 hour bus-ride to work, then another 8.5 hours of work itself, and the return trip (sometimes involving grocery shopping or a quick trip to the pharmacy) of about 2.0 hours, including rush-hour time. You have a very long day ahead of you. So long and complicated, in fact, that you begin to feel the weight of it pressing on your frontal lobes, then travelling to and exerting pressure on your eyelids, and finally settling deep within the fibres of your levator scapulae. You begin to breathe deeply, for the exertion is so strong that you need to calm yourself slowly. You close your eyes to attempt to clear your head, entering a peaceful, silent sp--BAM! Your eyes fly open, your neck snaps up, and you feel as though someone has slapped you with a very large, very moist rubber chicken.
You, my friend, have just experienced NOC. It is worse than being told that your dental appointment has been cancelled. Do you know why that is? Because appointments can be re-scheduled. There is no redemption from the NOC. You have made a complete idiot of yourself in front of a horde of on-lookers, and probably given your neighbour the fright of a lifetime, causing him or her to give you a fish-eyed glare and subject you to the Subtle Ass-Shift, which will, as has been previously discussed, make you feel even worse than you already do.
I feel for you, though. At least your neighbour was nice enough to just do that. I once experience a lady who stabbed me in the side with her knobbly elbows when I accidentally fell asleep beside her and started to creep slowly into her personal space in my unconscious state (I know you've done this before, too. Don't lie to yourself).
Next time, do yourself a favour, and go to bed one hour earlier. Which is exactly what I have not done, and will likely have explosive-nod-off-contestation-diarrhea tomorrow morning, and throughout the day.
The solution? An engaging chapter about the Imperius Curse, bouncing white ferrets, and never-ceasing, CONSTANT VIGILANCE**.
**Please refer to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for more details.
I hope this post finds you in good health, with your brains resting in the soft covers of your fluffy, feather-filled headrests that I like to call pillows. Other terms that can be used are: head-cushions, brain comforters, forehead squash-bags, cranium sacks, and noggin-chairs (these terms are expressly in their use for the highest part of the human body. For heel-pouffes, please refer to the term foot-cushions).
I, on the other (and infinitely less fortunate) hand, am suffering from a mild bout of insomnia. This is because I have been, most disconcertingly, dozing off all over the place today, and as such have regained my strength through putting my neck through many nodding-off-then-being-unceremoniously-woken-up exercises. Trust me, friends, you are not alone, for today we shall delve into that wonderful world in which you feel yourself fly, accumulate large amounts of wealth with a simple flick of your finger, ride a neon-yellow coloured elephant as tall as the Empire State building, and, especially in my case, sit on a bus without any hassle: the world of slumber, rest, relaxation, and the occasional dream in which your penchant for your favourite celebrity is no longer hindered by policemen, gates, or sweaty bodyguards.
You have experienced, I am sure, the spaced-out gaze which causes mild drooling and the very hazardous self-projection of insanity. I am no stranger to this. What I can never be accustomed to, however, is the audacity of some individuals. Here you are, staring out into the depths of your room, oblivious to the sounds and sights around you, not really thinking of anything, when suddenly, a snapping noise of clicking fingers interrupts your musings, and a hearty chuckle on the intruder's part, fully-equipped with a tremulous "Heh, heh, you were really zoned out, weren't you?" Of course, you will reply with a polite chuckle and a half-hearted apology, but the real thing you yearn to say is: "Yes, you dim-witted, worthless pile of coyote droppings, I was. Until you butt in."
I agree, friends, it is never a situation in which one hopes to be found. More astounding, however, is the tolerance that you experience from your fellow stranger, in most cases. At this time, I do not refer to mere blank-expressioned eyes, but to a much more startling reality. The dreaded Nod-Off-Contestation (NOC). The NOC can occur at any time, when you least expect it. I, unsurprisingly, have encountered this most during my frequent trips aboard the public-transport-express; it is rather horrifying, and let me explain to you why.
Picture this: 7:09AM. You have hardly slept a wink and must now face a 1.5 hour bus-ride to work, then another 8.5 hours of work itself, and the return trip (sometimes involving grocery shopping or a quick trip to the pharmacy) of about 2.0 hours, including rush-hour time. You have a very long day ahead of you. So long and complicated, in fact, that you begin to feel the weight of it pressing on your frontal lobes, then travelling to and exerting pressure on your eyelids, and finally settling deep within the fibres of your levator scapulae. You begin to breathe deeply, for the exertion is so strong that you need to calm yourself slowly. You close your eyes to attempt to clear your head, entering a peaceful, silent sp--BAM! Your eyes fly open, your neck snaps up, and you feel as though someone has slapped you with a very large, very moist rubber chicken.
You, my friend, have just experienced NOC. It is worse than being told that your dental appointment has been cancelled. Do you know why that is? Because appointments can be re-scheduled. There is no redemption from the NOC. You have made a complete idiot of yourself in front of a horde of on-lookers, and probably given your neighbour the fright of a lifetime, causing him or her to give you a fish-eyed glare and subject you to the Subtle Ass-Shift, which will, as has been previously discussed, make you feel even worse than you already do.
I feel for you, though. At least your neighbour was nice enough to just do that. I once experience a lady who stabbed me in the side with her knobbly elbows when I accidentally fell asleep beside her and started to creep slowly into her personal space in my unconscious state (I know you've done this before, too. Don't lie to yourself).
Next time, do yourself a favour, and go to bed one hour earlier. Which is exactly what I have not done, and will likely have explosive-nod-off-contestation-diarrhea tomorrow morning, and throughout the day.
The solution? An engaging chapter about the Imperius Curse, bouncing white ferrets, and never-ceasing, CONSTANT VIGILANCE**.
**Please refer to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for more details.
