The Tuesday Report: Time-Skips, Cracking Joints, and Accidental Naps

If you want to know how my week is currently going: I magically skipped from 10:00 PM to 3:30 AM in the blink of an eye. This is just another wild night in The Tuesday Report, and honestly every week feels like an episode of The Tuesday Report for me lately.

Seizure. In The Tuesday Report, these kinds of surprises seem to happen far too often.

I awoke sitting bolt upright next to the birds, sitting in a reading aloud position to them. When my brain finally came back online at 3:30 AM, I realized I hadn’t moved a single muscle from that exact sitting position for five and a half hours. Standing up produced a god-almighty crack that sounded like a collapsing building. Blobette and Mojo were thoroughly unimpressed with me leaving their cage light glaring all night, too while I was “out”.

To top off the temporal chaos, a “whoops, took too many gummies” situation this morning knocked me out cold for four hours—which was definitely not the plan. Yet, it’s yet another classic tale for The Tuesday Report archives.

So now I’m awake, my sleep schedule is completely wrecked, and I’m actively trying to stretch my bedtime tonight so I don’t induce another seizure.

How’s your week starting off? Anyone else fighting a completely broken body clock? If so, you might have your own version of The Tuesday Report to share.

The Weekend Report: Digital Freight, Nosey Cameras, and Ballistic Shields

old photo of ben

The weekend has officially concluded, the teenager has been successfully returned to his rightful owners, and I am currently pinned to the sofa by a necessary dose of diazepam (or Valium, for those stateside). I had to take it to calm my nervous system down after a post-visit, overwhelm-induced seizure. Project Zomboid is on in the background, and I am heavily contemplating a sofa nap that my brain will almost certainly refuse to allow. Not to mention I had terrible nightmares last night. I was exhausted from the lack of sleep so while it was good to sleep for six hours, the nightmares? so not worth it.

Ben made it home safely this afternoon. The trains were packed, which I’m sure made the 15-minute walk to the station carrying a bag stuffed with roughly 80% of my fridge’s contents an absolute joy. We had a great time, largely fueled by a newly purchased Steam sale game called Bering Tonnage. It is an incredibly complicated cargo shipping simulator that we spent five solid hours trying to figure out on Saturday. I tapped out at 11:30 PM. I found out today that Ben, left to his own devices, stayed up moving digital freight until 4:00 AM. That certainly explains his absolute fatigue when I woke him up this morning. I did actually play the role of responsible parent and made him proper bacon and fried egg sandwiches for breakfast.

Before he succumbed to the cargo logistics black hole, he did actually earn his keep. The new daylight lamp for the birds is officially installed and operational. Mojo and Blobette absolutely love it, and it is going to be a lifesaver for the darker winter nights (and for the days I simply need to hide from the world with the blackout blinds). I tried to capitalise on this good mood by enticing Mojo with some millet spray. He looked genuinely tempted to step onto my outstretched hand, but my FND was thoroughly playing up, leaving my arm shaking like a leaf. Mojo abruptly cancelled the negotiation—birds, it turns out, do not trust a vibrating perch. Thankfully, the diazepam is starting to calm those tremors down, so I will try again after his current snooze.

In other domestic news, we took some time to reposition the front security camera so it can properly see the steps leading to the main door. Why? Because someone was outside throwing up, and naturally, we had to stealthily pan the camera to get a better look at the drama. Am I nosey? Yes. Do I have any regrets? Absolutely not.

Looking ahead, I am very close to hitting my savings goal for Ben’s birthday and Christmas present. At the end of the month, I’ll be ordering him a £150 electric guitar bundle that comes with the amp and strings. He has been playing acoustic brilliantly for the past few years, so he is incredibly excited for the upgrade. His mum is picking up a floor stand and an effects pedal for him, because the walls in his new house apparently do not have the structural integrity to support wall mounts.

On the blog admin side of things, I had a very pleasant surprise. It turns out I have a Tumblr account that WordPress has been quietly cross-posting to, and it is actually getting some engagement. Even better, someone generously dropped a £5 donation in my Buy Me a Coffee. To whoever that was: you have no idea how much that made me smile. Thank you. It has given me the kick I needed to look into the platform’s features and figure out some actual reward tiers for the future.

Finally, against my better judgement, a brief foray into world affairs. I don’t usually talk politics or religion here, largely because it’s too polarising and life is exhausting enough. But the whole Trump taking Russia’s side thing is genuinely baffling to me. It also got me thinking about the UK’s nuclear deterrence strategy. Why are we relying on the frankly terrifying “Mutually Assured Destruction” promise of hitting back? Surely, building a ballistic shield to cover the UK and parts of Europe would be a much more sensible choice. Charge us all a fiver a month on our council tax bills to fund it. It would certainly belay a lot of the country’s underlying dread without relying on a standoff. But that is exactly as far into politics as I am willing to wade today.

Question of the Day: What do you think about the ballistic shield idea? Would you happily chip in a fiver a month to just intercept the problem instead of relying on the promise of blowing up the world? Let me know in the comments.

Now, if you will excuse me, my heavy-but-wired state requires some immediate attention. It is officially Cheese O’clock. Must be the half dutchness.

The Insomnia Tax, Shrinkflation, and Sci-Fi for Birds

Mojo

I seem to have completely forgotten the mechanics of going to sleep. My physical body is currently functioning with the structural integrity of a wet sandbag, but my brain has decided it is high noon and time to run a marathon. Being utterly exhausted but completely wired is a special kind of nocturnal torture, and it usually means I am staring at the ceiling until 2 AM. This is what I call The Insomnia Tax, and it feels like there is no refund. For me, The Insomnia Tax imposes a penalty every restless night.

Since I’m awake, let’s talk about the sheer audacity of modern supermarkets. I had my Asda shop delivered today and decided to get some Halloween sweet multi-packs for my carers. Have you seen the state of these things recently? You practically need to remortgage your house to buy a bag, and when you finally open it, the actual chocolates are microscopic. Don’t even get me started on Cadbury. They are the absolute worst offenders in the shrinkflation game. I’m paying premium prices for a fun-size bar that is now genuinely the size of a postage stamp. It’s not a treat; it’s a choking hazard. All this, like dealing with supermarkets, sometimes feels as thankless as taxes on insomnia itself.

Reading

But I digress. On a much lighter, slightly weirder note, I have established a new evening routine in the flat. Every night at 9:30 PM, I read aloud to Mojo and Blobette. We are currently working our way through The War of the Worlds. Apparently, H.G. Wells’ tale of Martian destruction is incredibly soothing if you have feathers. They sit there on their perches, puff up into little round spheres of absolute contentment, and practically fall asleep listening to the carnage. It’s working wonders—they are noticeably less skittish around me now that we have our evening story time. Even the birds don’t have to pay what I call an insomnia tax, it seems.

I also have a daylight lamp sitting in its box ready to be installed for them, so they still get enough rays as the dark winter days draw in. I haven’t quite mustered the energy to wrestle with extension cables and timers yet, but it’s on the agenda. It’s genuinely nice to end the week with a positive little project waiting in the wings. Meanwhile, that unique penalty called insomnia tax is lurking, waiting for me at bedtime.

Since The War of the Worlds is almost finished, I need your help.

What are some good, relatively short books I can read to the birds next? They seem to enjoy classic literature and alien invasions, but I’m open to suggestions.

P.S. A massive thank you and welcome to all the new subscribers who have joined recently. It is lovely to have you here in our weird little corner of the internet.

A picture paints a thousand words #2

It’s really true, the simple things in life are the best. For my birthday last year, everyone got me two budgets. Mojo (white and blue) and blobette. I absolutely love sitting and listening to them. They might not be a pickup and cuddle pet but I love having them because they are so interesting to watch. They will eat seed from my hand and I’ll admit I haven’t spent every day training them but yes.

This photo makes me happy.
This photo sums up what silence should be for me. I don’t like no noise as I will hear things I don’t want to. These two tweets are enough on a bad day for me to make a huge difference. They need me for food and I need them for noise.

I bought them this toy that dispenses paper. They make the nicest sound in the world when they are ripping little bits of it off. Not sure what they do with it but they like eating paper. That. And they go nuts for fruit sticks.