Can’t sleep/Won’t sleep?
I went to bed at 9pm, read a page of Guy Martin’s autobiog and, as I struggled to put the book down before unconsciousness hit me, I was almost overwhelmed with sleep.
And I slept the sleep of the Just.
And then I woke up.
I was wide awake, fully recharged, and my brain was firing on all cylinders.
So I’ve decided that I’m going to liveblog this bout of insomnia.
In the interests of, you know, science.
And other stuff.
I’ve been tossing and turning in my lovely bed so much that I’m starting to get sweaty. That looks wrong. Sweatie. No, that looks wronger.
I’ve caught up on Twitter.
I’ve caught up on Facebook. I’m thinking of giving up on Facebook. Actually, I’m thinking of giving up on Twitter too. They’ve just become so dull. Samey. Since Trump happened. I mean since President Trump happened, not since someone did a trump. Although…
I’ve tried, oh man, I’ve really tried to get back to sleep. And the frustration of not being able to get back to sleep, coupled with the simultaneous other-level frustration of having my brain running at full pelt has wound me right up. I’m going to get up and go downstairs.
Ouch! While trying to dodge a pair of prowling kittens in the dark (and that’s pretty hard as they’re both black), and conducting synchronised slippers-and-bathrobe-donning, I managed to stub my toe on my bedside table. Miraculously I didn’t spill the half-empty cup of cold chocolate, I didn’t kick a kitten, and I didn’t wake Sam. I hobble downstairs.
I have fresh hot chocolate. It’s over there on the table next to the settee. But I’m stuck. I have a kitten on my lap while the other kitten claws my leg as he suckles on my bathrobe. Strange boy.
They’ve gone; the kittens. I’ve caught up on the BBC News website. My hot chocolate was more like lukewarm chocolate.
I’ve recaught up on Twitter and recaught up on Facebook.
I’ve gone through my blogroll and read everything everyone who I link to has written since my last bout of insomnia. I am beginning to wish I hadn’t left my book and my tablet upstairs. I remember the anti-kitten toe-stubbing limbo, and then I’m quite glad I didn’t have my tablet and/or my book in my hand at the time. But now I quite fancy another chapter of Guy Martin. Or maybe an episode or two of The Man In The High Castle (which I’m really enjoying).
I fire up the laptop.
I’ve given up trying to write a blog post that just wasn’t inside me. I started reading some old draft short stories, and two outlines for novels, that I started some years ago. Maybe I should do something with those one day? One of them isn’t that bad! I’m starting to get cold now. The remote control for the central heating is also upstairs in the bedroom. With my book. And my tablet. And the sleeping Sam. As I’m still completely untired I decide to remain downstairs and tough out the temperature, until I start to feel sleepy.
I point the browser and an SSH session at the datacentre, log in and pull up the reporting dashboard. I’m almost disappointed to see that all of the servers are operating normally. I even drill down in to the status report to check that the CPUs are operating at their normal temperatures. They are.
I consider getting my leathers (or textiles) on and taking the ZX10-R out for a night run, but checked outside and found that it’s massively foggy.
No idea what the time is now. While I was reading the news (again) one of the kittens decided to sit on me. Then he curled up beneath my chin/on my throat and chest, and is now fast asleep, purring loudly. I am unable to see my phone.
The kitten got up, licked its bottom and wandered off to bother someone who is more asleep than I. There’s quite a lot of Facebook action in the heart attack survivor’s group. Insomnia seems to be a very routine event amongst that category of person.
I have built a Jenga-like tower of scenarios in my head. It started out with an ‘If I do this…’ strand, and has gone in a dozen different directions. As a result I’m now planning a round-Portugal motorbike trip that probably isn’t going to happen. A few minutes ago I was going to give up work, and was planning what I’d do and how I’d spend my time.
I have calf cramp. Moo. No, not that kind of calf.
I make another hot chocolate.
I’m contemplating the weather and wondering which thundertwonk made up the word ‘thundersnow’. What an arse. I wonder if what’s going on outside is thunderfog. Or murderfog. Or slaughtermist.
I’ve been playing with (re)definitions: Gruelling (to manufacture gruel). Sweety (a bit like a sweet). Sticky (like a stick). Carbuncle (a male relative who loves pasta and bread). Twanky (a Yorkshireman’s almost wank). Trump (a Yorkshireman’s steak). Lactose (the result of severe frostbite). Staircase (somewhere to store your stairs).
My alarm will go off in less than an hour. I’m still wide awake. This is pathetic. Despite still being totally untired I decide to go to bed to read my phone.
My alarm goes off which I sleep right through.
The second alarm goes off. I feel like a dead thing. But where am I going to find one at this time of the morning?
*looks in the mirror*
This has been a typical bout of what I call insomnia.
I sometimes experience two of these a week.
Welcome to my world.