''Why they put coffee in the coffee in Brazil''.


You may state, at will of course, that I have indeed gone mad. Actually, I have driven myself mad. And only slightly, and mostly at night. Yes, that's more acurate.
In a similar stance to last year, night time refuses to let me sleep. But I am certainly no insomniac, I shan't have it, when I am able to sleep so soundly during the day.
Though winter beckons me with damp streets and grey skies, frosted benches and coffee cups. I'm not in Brazil, Winter, please! In simplicity, when shall I sleep, and shall I at all?
I'm not a Christmas person, oh I never used to be. What I used to be was a Christmas child, and that, in technicality, also holds the simple fact that I only ever used to be a child. And now, a teenager. Im presently adult, if we are speaking in numbers.
My ID gives me the ability to buy alcohol as Christmas presents, crossing half my list and winking surreptitously, though of course this would change if I were to become a plod.
You see, had I ever have been allowed to work the tills at my short stretch in Debenhams, a police man (filth) attempting to buy a 'last minute christmas gift' of a whiskey set with shot glasses, playing cards and coffee granules (name brand) would be highly illegal and I may, and I have, the legal right to, say;
'No mister plod, you are not to purchase this alcohol, go about ye' business'
Of course, working downstairs and not in my assigned top floor 'Childrens Wear, Toys and Electricals.

But still.

A politicians daughter was accused of drinking water, and fined a great big fifty dollar bill.

I sectioned myself off to bed after watching 'Being Human' and pondered on my very long and strange fascination with that that is exactly not that. Being Human, I mean.
For if my obsession was not with animals (as a very young child) it was the creatures in horror movies (as a very, very young child) and my delicate look toward Sci Fi (Oh dearest Alien, i was always on your side, though, Ripleys too, as she was most certainly one of you, truely), and then as i grew older, the natural progression into the vampire and the monsters of movies many decades before my own time.
Most of my obsessions lay in times I wasn't a blink in the eye.
Some not even my parents were a glint in an eye, this coast or that.

No tea, or tomato juice... You'll see, no potato juice.


A question I just read asked simply 'Nose Bleed?'
And should I reply by writing, let it be known, in this day and age no matter what I say will be labelled. As emo - no doubt, violent - a possibility, and a favourite - You ought'a get checked.
I'll have my weekly check up, in which I have no guidelines and no particular doctor. I massage my stomach and ask myself if I am hungry, i moisturise my skin whilst feeling for lumps, bumps, aches, spots or sores and then I brush my hair out to count the strands.
Okay, the last ones a lie.
And the whites of my eyes are so much greyer as the years go on.
The veins are protruding from my hands and I have a strange flash back memory..
The ex alcoholic/drug addict that shared a ward with Suzy in hospital many years ago. His red matching pyjamas, my memory has placed a teddy in his arm, and with his rough and experienced face so simply drained, his hair a-scew, he is the epitome of nostalgia.
With a vacant stare only a man missing can do.

Oh where did his book go?