It’s 5.30 am in the morning. Dad’s over at us spending the holidays. Why am I up? Here’s a story for you, children.

I go to bed at like maybe 11.30 pm and sleep until 3-ish. Then I wake up, stay in bed thinking all this will pass and I’ll get back to sleep. I wait for an hour, ending up casually internetting with the phone. The sleeping, it’s not happening. So I get up and go for the bathroom and what do I find? My dad, meant to be sleeping downstairs on a guest bed is up, telling me he’s been up for like and hour. I’m like yea, me too. I go to the bathroom (let me just tell you, the floorboards are not our friends tonight. the creaking is something terrible) and decide to give the sleep one more go.

Yea, not happening. So I get up and make myself a cuppa. Dad follows me to the kitchen, to do the exact same thing. A cuppa is always, always a good idea.

And here we are, two deranged ghosts hovering about the premises with a teacup in our hand. One with a bipolar disorder and one with PTSD (he says it isn’t it but i know better), both unwilling to give in on the disorder, both unable to sleep.

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