Counting Sheep

I really shouldn't be awake at 3am on a weekday. I'm tossing, I'm turning - my attempts at falling back to sleep are futile.

Counting sheep?
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...Shaun the Sheep. A heap of sheep. Sheep shit.

My mind wanders. Clearly counting sheep isn't for me.

I'll start again:

One sheep
I need to clean up the room before Sunday. The laundry needs doing and the floor needs hoovering. I don't understand where all this mess is coming from - I really don't.

Two sheep
The plural of sheep is 'sheep'. It isn't 'sheeps'. I remember this because father told me this when I was six. He told me this again when I was ten when I made that mistake in my English test. This time round he gave me a pretty good chastising for forgetting.

Three sheep
I've got a lot of packing to do. I'll need to do this on Saturday. On top of packing the volumionous amounts of chocolates I intend of bringing with me (for family), I want to bring back some of the clothes I (can) no longer wear. They're in a box on top of my cupboards like a corpse in a coffin waiting to be buried.

Four sheep
When I get back I'm going to continue painting the bedroom wall with the acrylic paints I have tucked away under the bed (provided my sisters haven't found them and used them up). The last time I painted the wall, I was working on an image of a leaveless tree. Dried and dead, its branches were like thin cracks which crawled across the wall - thin cracks...like the hands that were painting it...

Shaun the Sheep
My sisters love that show.



...



I turn over and look at the clock - it's 8am. Looks like counting sheep works after all. But fuck, now I'm late...