Paddy's Day et al

On Tuesday, I had plans to go out on Wednesday night. The pre-Paddy's Day night out was something I hadn't done last year, and something I was really looking forward to this year. Halfway to the bus stop on Wednesday morning, I sneezed. By the time I got to college, I felt like I was dead.

In the space of about half an hour, a head cold had set in. I was fairly miserable all day (I did my best not to be miserable, so all in all I just couldn't do very much but I was trying to keep a smile on my face). I got home from college feeling more dead than I had been when I got there, and I knew that deciding to go out would have been a bad idea.

So, scratch out those plans.

Thursday, Paddy's Day, I was meant to go to Bray. I still felt sick. I was congested and headache-y and tired, and really going outside for prolonged periods of time was bound to be a bad idea. So I stayed at home and did nothing all day. I wasn't exactly happy about it, but I wasn't down in the dumps. I knew that if I had gone to Bray, I would have had to go outside - that was the plan, after all - and in going outside I would have to go to the fair. I say have to, because I am obliged to do what my friends had planned, unless I pull out altogether. I don't mean that to sound bitchy, I just mean I wouldn't ask them to give up their plans on going on the rides at the fair just because I was sick. Besides, if I'd gone, even if I didn't get on any of the rides I'd have only gotten worse.

So I stayed home knowing That Guy I Am was having a good time in Bray, went to bed later than I'd have liked and lay there trying to drift off to sleep.

Followers on Twitter might now be wondering if this is the part where I get a drunken phone call that keeps me up for a while. Regrettably, no. This was more disruptive than a phone call, and considerably less enjoyable. At this point in time, my parents, other brother, his girlfriend and his friend all arrived at the house from the local pub. They spoke at the top of their voices, sometimes to the volume of shouting. They laughed a lot. Then they put on music.

Really. Fucking. Loudly.

I'm all for having a good time. But I'm also all for being slightly considerate for the person suffering from headaches because of congestion. The last thing I needed was for there to also be a cascade of noises roaring at me through the floor.

Finally the music and the loud talking stopped downstairs. My parents went to bed...

And spoke to each other as if it was noon and no one else was home. And laughed. And had drunk, stupid arguments that they didn't treat seriously. And kept me awake.

When they finally stopped, it was too late. I was awake. I was wide awake and it was half three in the morning, and I did not receive a drunken call to at least keep me somewhat amused. I decided to write an email and only stop writing it if (a) I finished it or (b) I felt tired. I finished it at five in the morning. I sent it. I tried to sleep. I could not.

Sometime over the next half hour, I fell asleep. Four hours later, I woke up.

Fuck...

I'm still getting over my head cold, so losing considerable amounts of sleep isn't exactly a good thing. I had to opt out of the cinema tonight because I couldn't sleep last night. I wasn't exactly looking forward to the film, but I like going every week anyway, because it's the only time I get to see my friends from secondary school. I've lost track of how many films I've seen with them over the years. Missing a week isn't fun.

I'd be in bed now, except True Blood is on. I figure I'll watch it then collapse into bed. Oh the joys of illness and tiredness...