Dear Santa,

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Exploding glass tables, death threats from Buddhist nuns and rampant cowboys...

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Through the Breathing Hole – Thursday, October 28^th

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The great thing about this new found freedom to write what I want has opened a whole new can of worms. At first I was tempted to come to my laptop and start typing all of the shit I hate about people, but then on second thoughts, there are enough manic-depressive, life-hating blogs out there. So, remembering I was not a depressed fourteen year old who listened to heavy metal and thought the world was against me, I shuffled my hand around in the can for a few minutes and pulled out the chosen worm. The teacher’s worm.

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It has been October for seven days now, and although here we don’t have the same seasons as we do back home, I can feel that things are changing. Autumn, or Fall as those Americans like to call it, is a season of change just as is Spring. I guess because leaves fall, so does the temperature. In April, things spring up, like flowers and babies and what not. God knows the true origin of these words but that’s how I thought it was, things rising and falling, growing and dying, seasons changing and never just meeting a constant.
Here the changes are more subtle. The temperature has altered slightly, faintly cooler than before, with more of a breeze and less summer rain. It’s comfortable. Things aren’t visibly changing, no naked trees or thicker coats, which makes the seasons more of a state of mind. The calmer sun made me realise it’s October, oh and of course pay day, which is a signal of change for about a week and then you realise you have paid all your bills and then it’s just an ordinary day. But also, I took the Kidnapper back to the Glass Bedroom. I know I said I wouldn’t, but you know, that was last season.

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Anyone who has ever been lucky enough to be there the moment I wake up will probably remember several distinct things. I need a black coffee and a cigarette, otherwise any relationship we ever had is immediately over. I have incredibly insane bed-hair, because I do some wild gymnastics in my sleep, using martial arts moves I never knew I had on the unsuspecting co-sleeper. But even more so, you will remember the alarm. The unbelievably loud sound of a mobile phone that shot you out of bed wondering when the war began.
 The most puzzling part of the experience was how on Earth I managed to remain asleep. It was the first time in that bed when I didn’t move a muscle, I just lay there, zonked out and was oblivious to the constant ringing that continued for a whole hour.

I am quite an amazing creature, who can sleep anywhere. I’ve slept in movie theatres, on airplanes, trains, on the bin outside of my uni halls, at a bus stop in Amsterdam, and I’m often found taking a nap in the bath. I close my eyes for a second and the iron curtain falls down. Nothing is getting in to disturb my sleep. There’s a sound-proof barrier that even James Blunt couldn’t get through – the Mole used to play that full blast at 6am in a failed attempt to get my ass out of bed. Just made me further question his sexuality really.

Another thing with which the mole used to experiment was my subconscious. He soon learned that this was no iron curtain, but rather a layer of very thin ice.
You see, while I’m shutting out sounds and the outside world, my brain is just waking up. I guess there’s something deep and dark in my past which means I’m always awake when I’m asleep. The mole and I could have entire conversations. I’d tell him all about that size ten skirt I wanted from House of Fraser, about how much I hated James Blunt, and I’d never wake up. But sometimes he would try and play a game. He would ask me questions. Did I really love him? Had I ever cheated on him? It was enough to jolt me straight up in that bed, wide awake, eyes bright. The thin ice had quickly ruptured. The defences of my subconscious had done their job.

Not that many people know this. Those who read this will probably never find themselves in a bed next to me again, if they ever had in the first place. But if you do, and you’re sick of my alarm deafening you at 5.30 am, then remember, to wake me up, you just have to frighten me. I jump at the tiniest of things. I have a very delicate subconscious. Few people know that, they never got to know that part of me. Even my best friend is completely clueless to the sensitivity of my subliminal mind. And there must be a reason for that. You’re defences, naturally, should be unidentifiable to others. They’re there to protect you.

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I felt her hand on my right shoulder. It gave me one of those oogie-boogie tingling sensations. I couldn’t help thinking, why does this woman keep touching me like this? She wasn’t touching anyone else in the group with such a frequency, or with such an oogie-booginess.
To make it all the more creepy, she looked me in the eyes and said to me three short words.
‘You be safe.’

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I haven’t posted a blog for what seems like a long time.
This has coincided with my transformation.
My transformation of becoming what is either a normal or an abnormal person. This remains open for interpretation.

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