Knock Knock Knock

This morning I just got woken up by a single loud knock on the door. I confusedly opened an eye and wondered if something had fallen over. Another few loud knocks at the door.

"What?"

--silence--

"WHAT?"

"Hiya, it's me. Can I come in?"

"No."

I scowl into my pillow for a moment then storm out of bed, annoyed at being woken from an amazing dream that Im forgetting about by the millisecond. I open the door to find my flatmate standing there, in a tank top and shades, obviously still drunk from the night before, grinning and holding a wad of money.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing waking me up in the morning?"

"..Sorry, I just got in."

"So what? Don't fucking wake me up in the morning."

"Oh. Yeah alright, I just thought I'd -"

I grabbed the wad of money and slammed the door at him, tossed the money onto my dresser and angrily climbed back into bed. I lay in bed with my eyes furiously shut, and listened to him potter around in the kitchen, until after about 10 minutes he left. Slamming the front door behind him. That was at 8am.

I'm a very bad sleeper - it takes me hours to get to sleep, and I only get to sleep eventually because my eyes can no longer hold themselves open and my mind can no longer run over the same incoherent neurotic thoughts, and my body can no longer hold itself up let alone hold up a cigarette. I have to, literally, knacker myself out.

Now that would be fine, if I wasn't such a light sleeper. I wake up at the littlest sound. I'm pretty sure that's after years of living with my mother and having to analyse every sound - "Ah shit, she opened the front door slightly more aggressively than usual. She must have found the letter from school wondering where I am, and where I've been for the last 6 months. Or she's discovered that bottle of what looks like water under my bed, is in fact vodka. And how instead of being the child prodigy that everyone thinks I am, I've decided to take up drinking, and kissing boys. So now she's coming to smash up my room, and tell me how I'll never amount to anything."

So to this day, I wake up the second I hear the front door go, and I analyse every little sound (footsteps, other doors opening, the jingle of keys) until a little corner of my mind is satisfied that there is no need for further alertness, no imminent danger, and lets me go back to dreaming about piloting a pirate spaceship with Joss Whedon.

If, in this alertness time, I haven't opened my eyes or gotten out of bed, I can go straight back to sleep (I've been known to slot straight back into whatever dream I was just woken from). But if I get up out of my bed, the spell is broken. I'm officially awake. And thus if I want to get back to sleep I have to go through the entire rigmarole of trying to pretend I'm a normal person who can put themselves to sleep, when in fact I'm the kind of crazy person who has to trick their mind into falling asleep when it's not looking.

The point of the story (story is the wrong word.. ranting babble. Yes.) The point of this ranting babble is that I was awoken by my drunken prick of a flatmate at 8am this morning, and I haven't been able to get back to sleep. And I'm going to spend the rest of the day annoyed about it.

Prick.

---------

NB: Hmm. I hope that wad of money I took from the Flatmate was rent money. Otherwise I may have just accidentally mugged him.