I am at a point in the day where I am at a complete loss for words. Correction, I am at a point in the day where apathy has snuck its head into my being and is metaphorically stitching my mouth shut, so I am unable to verbalise anything anymore. However, with intense insomnia and constant whirring thoughts trolling my mind, I realise I’m not at a loss for words at all. In fact, I am exhausted purely because I can’t actually stop talking, mentally, anyway.

“What’s wrong? Something must be keeping you up? Just have some herbal remedies, that’ll sort you out.” I get told. You’d think after 22 years of existence I would have worked out if any kooky smells, hippy teas or dream catchers would really impact my sleeping pattern, wouldn’t you? Well. Surprisingly, I have. And as much as I appreciate the concern of my nearest and dearest, sometimes those standard treatments just don’t cut the mustard.

Since this is my blog, I feel like expressing myself over personal cognitions is warranted. I apologise to those of you who expected a topic of interest that was in the news, or a location, review and such like. But today, it is all about me. Yes. It’s more for my own personal whinging, so do feel free to vacate the blog now, before you get verbally attacked by pessimistic self-pity.

Okay, so firstly. I am doing an intense journalism course (and it must have sunk its way into my system because I am reporting my every move and thought) and it has infected my life. I say infected like it’s a bad thing, and to be fair, sometimes it is. I think in shorthand. I hate the word “local”. I am articulating my sentences as headlines. Everywhere I go I see a story. However, I do not drink plain black tea, or coffee, or eat biscuits, so I am running low on energy to always act upon the course’s requests. Not that I’m lazy, because I’m certainly not. I like to dedicate myself and get things done, as well as ensure I exercise, eat right and keep my friends and family happy, and do whatever else life begs of me. But, this is rather exhausting for my body, and I sometimes just want to curl up in front of the telly, wrapped up in a duvet like a toasty cinnamon bun and just watch all the films I received at Christmas and the countless ones I’ve purchased since. But, for now, I must persevere with the work and endure the bloodshot eyes that have stretched like spider-webs across my corneas.

I really could have gone on about this journalism lark, but I think any further expansion would create no further depth to my whinging. Plus, I am boring myself. So, a change of topic is necessary. Okay, so two. We have the lovely variable of “I’m 22 and have been single for 3 odd years” and it is currently driving me rather potty. It’s not like I’m even looking for a relationship; I’m far too busy. Nor, that I especially want one right now. But yet, my hormones don’t seem to be working concurrently with my morals and lifestyle. Not that I act upon them, because I don’t. I am a nun compared to most folk these days (I have only ever had one partner and never even kissed another soul. I like to declare this fact because I do think it makes me rather angelic…I did warn you this would be an egocentric write-up, so don’t go complaining now!) But, with my current strife of hormonal fluctuations, I appear to be developing feelings where I shouldn’t be. I try to remove these feelings by having minor bodily contact, such as with hugging, or by attempted removal through intense exercise (but again, thanks to my fabulous journalism lifestyle, I am far too busy stuck on a swivel chair in front of a computer to have time for that anymore) So what has occurred instead is what I like to call, “Scumbag brain”. This is where your mind doesn’t stop yapping at night because you can’t get out those frustrations physically during the day, whether it’s fearing an exam, meeting a deadline, helping a loved one, or going bonkers because you are starting to think you’re attracted to people. But all that’s really happening is your oestrogen and progesterone and sometimes that blasted testosterone are going haywire (in my case, anyway). But, I fear I can’t decipher which one is true anymore. I suppose this is what’s also annoying my noggin at night. What am I feeling? Is it real? Should I ignore it and it’ll go away? If it’s real, and I act on it, will I immensely regret it? Or, is this all just an amalgamation of having too many hormones and a restricted lifestyle? I wish I knew.

If any of you lasted through that whinge/tired-induced outburst, maybe you could enlighten me as to what’s going on in my brain? Because I am far too exhausted to know myself anymore.