Insomnia is like your own body’s idea of a practical joke.
“Ah, yes… I’m really looking forward to this sleep! It’s lovely and quiet, I’m knackered, The bed’s cozy…
“What’s that, body? You feeel like dancing?”
I have experienced nothing worse, physically, than lying down to a quiet night’s rest, and still waiting for it at 6:30 the next morning. This is inclusive of Montezuma’s revenge in Juarez, Mexico and something called a neuro-conductivity test (which is when a sadistic medical practitioner sticks electrified needles in your inflamed sciatic nerve and jiggles them about for half an hour.) The most frustrating thing, is that when you’re that tired, nothing seems like a good thing.
“Well, I’ve been meaning to read that bit of the Concise Oxford English Pocket Dictionary. Ah, yes, I haven’t seen that particular pattern of shadow yet… Yatzee! If I close both eyes, my ears can still see the alarm clock’s glaring green glow.” The only thing which seems to work is the worry bit. Oh, and I can finally do maths late at night: “Right, so it’s 2:47AM, which means it’s exactly 3hrs 43 minutes before the alarm goes off, and that can round off to an even 4hrs, which means I’ve only missed half a recommended night’s REM.”
My eyes feel shellacked, and my fingers move like an old woman trying to ring Mabel during an earthquake. How can it possibly be that at 9:00 AM, I still don’t feel sleepy?
I’ve memorized the NHS Direct’s encyclopaedia-entry for “sleep”. It is the most unhelpful idea to place links at the bottom of those pages. I went from sensible, British-stoic advice: “Sleeping tablets will make you addicted and drowsy, so you’re better off with a milky drink and a nice, quiet room.” To an American sleep site with ‘Association’ in the title acronym to make it sound authentic saying that the latest studies have shown that hypnotic drugs are perfectly safe to use long term and lead to powerful sleep which makes you generally more fit and attractive.
Thing is, I know this is bad… I watched two hours of Bob Ross on YouTube, and all I wanted was a two-inch brush and a bottle of gesso. Oh, and some strychnine!
