Punishment for something, not sure what.

The last few weeks months have been fucking mental.

First of all, it would appear that my body has decided that, now my hips are way better than before (though still being manipulated by the artful and delicious Mr Osteo), it’s going to fuck up other things instead. Like sleep, for example. Hah! Sleep! Sleep is for the WEAK! I hear you cry. Actually, sleep is for people who would like to get on with their job, without having a nervous breakdown.

It started maybe a month ago, when I had a wedding to shoot up in York. Now, like all the weddings I’ve had this year, I was super excited. Gorgeous venue, gorgeous reception, gorgeous dress, gorgeous couple. ACES. So on Wednesday night when I woke up from a horribly real nightmare, I had a very bad feeling. Wouldn’t mind so much, as I’m usually not bothered by nightmares, but this one was too close to the bone. I dreamed I arrived at Saturday’s wedding, opened my camera bag, and the cameras just weren’t in there. Everything else was there; spare lenses, cleaning stuff, cards, batteries, even the camera straps – but no cameras. At all. And I could hear the bride was already walking up the aisle, and I could hear her saying “Where’s Jay?? Why isn’t she shooting? She’s missing this, what the hell is going on??”

I finally woke up sweating like a dirty bitch, and tried really hard not to scream out loud.

Went back to sleep, TO THE EXACT SAME DREAM. Only, this time, I didn’t even have my camera bag. WTF.

Eventually woke up again, determined to not panic. I knew it was common to go back to sleep to the same dream, and I KNEW all was fine (pfffft like I was gonna forget my camera, puh-lease).

Until I went back to sleep, TO THE SAME MOTHERFUCKING DREAM AGAIN, MOTHERFUCKER.

That’s when I knew shit was up. That shit just does not happen. I knew, just KNEW some kind of shit was going to hit the fan, but I just didn’t know what. Which was EVEN WORSE.

I didn’t sleep Thursday night either, for being so damn stressed, and didn’t sleep on Friday for being stressed AND for listening to The Mr’s snoring. Thinking back, I don’t think he was even in the same bed; I think he was downstairs on the sofa. GOOD. TIMES.

Saturday morning and I’ve gone over my wedding checklist approximately 14,983,437 times. Everything seems fine. Right up until I’m about 45 minutes on the road and I discover I have a low tyre pressure. Which I need to sort before I can carry on, due to my dashboard lighting up like Christmas. In the end, I got all the shit sorted, and still managed to get to the wedding on time, thank fuck. Also quite glad I didn’t get a ton of crap down the front of my mint cream dress. Skills, bitches. SKILLS.

Unfortunately, lack of sleep always contributes to me getting a cold. I think I’ve already had 4 chest infections this year, and the most recent one appeared to be frighteningly close to bronchitis or pneumonia or something equally as shit. 3 nights of no sleep, plus a long day, plus ANOTHER night of no sleep, well. I was fucked. Collectively, in this house, we’ve produced enough phlegm to fill a swimming pool. Last week, The Mr proudly told me he’d coughed up an oyster. I told him that was my current daily diet. We have both been ill beyond belief. And could I get an appointment to see the doctor for some antibiotics? No, of course not. And now, with another sinus infection looming like a phlegmy green cloud, I still can’t get an appointment.

Fuxache.

As if lack of mental sleep isn’t enough, it’s been made even more hilarious hellish upon discovering a bird in the loft. And of course, Noah would likely freak the hell out if he found out what all the noise was, so when he said it was dripping water, we kinda just went along with it. Bless him. God love his imagination. We’re not sure if the bird is still up there now; we found out it can escape to the neighbouring loft via tiny holes in the corners. It’s now day two of complete silence up there (we did try to rescue it, but a broom and a box just wasn’t cutting it). So every time I lay in bed, I wait for the horrific smell of dead animal to waft up my nose. Or, potentially as likely, blood to start dripping through the ceiling. That’s not a huge problem though, because I’m currently painting the kitchen. So I don’t mind doing a quick paint over a corner of the bedroom ceiling.

We’ve got maybe 4 weeks to go until the end of term, and oh my holy sweet baby JESUS there is so much going on. 99% amazingly good, which I’m super-stoked about. Tiny bit of it not so good, which I’m a bit scared about. As long as I can maintain NOT letting that 1% grow bigger and take a ginormous shit on me, I will sail through this.

I’ve been saying it from the start – 2013 is a fucking amazing year. Even if I have spent part of it throwing up oysters and watching The Mr fight a bird in the loft while I hover nearby completing a level of Candy Crush.

It’s how we roll.