January is the month for insomnia.

I haven't lost so much sleep before.

I think it started when I was in London and I simply blamed the fact that my hotel room faced the runway of London's Heathrow Airport. When they say that Heathrow is one of the busiest airport in the world, you gotta believe them. Every 30 seconds, I could hear the thundrous roar of engines from aircrafts taking off and landing. Funny though, shouldn't the sound of engines be a whisper to me by now?

When I returned to Dubai, I felt like I was sufficiently sleepy to get lost in a deep slumber, but I awoke after 3 hours and couldn't get any shut eye after that. Which was really a bad thing because I was off to Birmngham that day. I swear I could have robbed a bank in Birmingham after staying awake the whole night. Again, back in Dubai, sleep still evaded me. I was here over the weekend and my friends thought I must have gone mad cos I chose to stay home instead of hitting the clubs.  What can I say? I was really really tired, emotionally fragile and irritable.

Imagine, I didn't sleep a wink before my flight to Kuala Lumpur via Singapore. When I arrived in Singapore Changi Airport after 7 hours in the air, my body was running into overdrive. I was even too tired to reach into my handbag, fish out my mobile and ring home. I ended up calling my sister after I reached Kuala Lumpur. How clever is that? I ended paying for an international phonecall!

And along with my sleep, my appetite has also gone outta the window.

Last night I decided to get my life back in order and headed down to Zinc. The club seemed as tired as I was.

And of course, I was catching spiders after I came home till 8am this morning when I finally caught some shut eye. Maybe eveything has just gone blurry to me.

Carrie thinks I should see a doctor, my sister thinks I'm stressed and Irene has recommended me a cough mixture that is guaranteed to make me feel drowsy and knock out.

I think I just have a really busy schedule this month.

I'm no longer the energizer bunny that I was.

Perhaps... I'm just getting old.

 

 

After making my "investment" in Louis Vuitton, I decided that there goes my alcohol funding. No more parties, late nights and booze for me.

 

With a certain amount of conviction, I told the image of myself in the mirror that I will say a firm "no" to partying.

 

Seriously?

Who am I kidding?

 

I haven't stumbled home and put on my shoes the wrong way round in ages. Such an embarassment!

 

Well, what can I say... 5-10 is just not my game.

Off to Barasti Bar later for boozie afternoons and sunset watching.

Seriously.

I need to start a new alcohol fund.

I didn't countdown... I was slopped in front of the telly at Joanna's place watching Kylie Minogue's concert after a super heavy steamboat dinner when the clock striked 12. I did manage to dash to the balcony to catch the fireworks display through the foggy Dubai sky. It was beautiful while it lasted. I stumbled home (still feeling extremely bloated) at 1am, only to wake up again at 4.30am for my flight to the "exotic" Moroccan city of Casablanca.

 

 

For the uninitiated, Casablanca is hardly "exotic" as some people think it would be. It doesn't top my list as one of my favourite destinations- there are too many people crowding the streets and crossing the streets like traffic lights don't matter, there are too many children tugging at your sleeves begging for money, and too many "over-friendly" men shouting ni hao to every Asian face they see. Most importantly, the city hasn't changed since the way it was filmed in the 1960's flick aptly named Casablanca.

 

It was the perfect opportunity to catch up on loss sleep after the tiring 9 hour flight. Instead I headed off to try something new- a Moroccan Bath. How can you say you've been to Morocco when you've not had a traditional hammam? So off I went with 3 other crew and my First Officer to a Moroccan Bath place, not knowing what to expect.

 

After making payment, we were ushered to the changing rooms and told to "change". Mind you, Moroccans ONLY speak Arabic and French and I speak neither of these languages. I was wondering, change? Change into what? And then I found out after several failed hand gestures that we were supposed to change into nothing but our underwear! Hmmm.... this is starting to get a little exciting. Our naked bodies were then waved into a hot steamy and obviously wet, Moroccan Bath. It was exactly like what I saw in pictures. The place was lined with mosaic tiled floors and tables, mosaic tiled sinks and many naked bodies.

 

We were the typical tourists there, giggling and pointing at saggy boobs and wondering around aimlessly not knowing where to proceed. Soon after, I found myself on a table with a granny spreading some blackish gook on me. Apparently, the gook was some kind of soap. It had an oily, gooey consistent and smelt more like aircraft fuel. Granny then used a loofah and with swift martial arts like skills, scrubbed me like I was mould on a bathroom floor. It didn't hurt that much really, perhaps I simply have a high threshold of pain. I did however, feel extremely smooth and squeaky clean. A 50 minutes oil massage later, I felt like I was glowing.

 

I must be the cleanest person this New Year. And what a way to start.

 

Oh well, they do say "out with the old and in with the new" don't they?

 

I'm starting the New Year with a new layer of skin.