I ached like a BITCH last night, there wasn’t much of me that didn’t hurt, we had watched the first two episodes of ‘Fortitude’ and my head was already a little scrambled(polar bears and murders before bed is never a good idea), and knowing that the hubby would be staying up later tonight I decided to crack open the hard stuff and try a Tramadol to get rid of the pain.
In the space of 11 hours I was practically dead and in some wacky-drug-fucked-up coma.
Last night I went VIP at the X Factor(I don’t even watch it) and ended up paying £300 for a ticket to Chessington because my mum wouldn’t pay for me and some other REALLY weird shit.
I had a pretty good sleep until, 6am, when I dreamt that my toddler poked me in the boob and grabbed my nose and whispered ‘hello mummyyyyyy’ in a Jack Nicholson/The Shining type manner.
Nope, I wasn’t dreaming, that shit was real. Hubbo grunts at me that he can’t have shut the stairgate that keeps the small one within his bedroom prison. The small one was stood literally face to face with me. Scared the shit out of me.
Luckily hubbo let me lay in, as I was still slightly smacked off my face on painkillers.