thetillyvanilly

Awkward things.

Sleep Problems

on October 15, 2014

sleep

Lately I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I’m usually a crazy heavy sleeper. Like, I can literally pass out anywhere. One of my friends drives like Jenson Button on speed and yet I manage to catch some Zs in his car. I can also sleep through earthquakes, hurricanes and alien abductions. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do, all right?

Also I used to never have nightmares. EVER. Another friend of mine has nightmares all the time and does crazy amounts of damage, breaking teeth and battering her husband and everything. But I’ve always had the type of zen sleep that I’m sure the Dalai Lama gets. That clear conscience, totally just checked a few souls into enlightenment shiz. Recently though, I’ve been jerking awake in a cold sweat. The other night I had a nightmare about the manager of my local coffee shop being a complete see you next Tuesday to me. She was supposed to be giving me an interview, but completely ignored me to play World of Warcraft. We now have a feud in real life that she doesn’t even know about.

I keep a notebook next to my bed that I ignore like it’s my job. It’s supposed to be a dream journal or something, but mostly it’s used as a paperweight. Sometimes I balance drinks on it until I decide that that’s a terrible idea and move the drinks perilously close to my laptop instead. Obviously I suck at learning lessons. But even though my notebook goes unused, sometimes, in a fit of conscious unconsciousness I will find somewhere to scribble down notes from dreams that seem to matter at the time. Not in the notebook though. Never the notebook. I bet that if I ever actually used the notebook, the world would implode, or a genie would appear, or it would be like the literary version of Jumanji… Ok, now I’m determined to never use the notebook.

This morning I woke up to find that I’d scrawled something in pencil onto a piece of tracing paper, which in my sleep-addled state is somehow better than writing in a book specifically designed for that purpose. I lifted it up to the light and squinted at it. “I can’t die now, because my room would make a rubbish shrine.” Yes, I thought, glancing around, it would make a rubbish shrine, and this is relevant to the human condition how? How will this solve the world peace conundrum? How will this generate food for the hungry or shelter for the homeless? How will this cure cancer or HIV or Ebola? Clearly subconsciously I’m much more concerned about the amount of candles that I own.

Also, I think Paul McKenna might be screwing with me. I’ve been listening to these self-hypnosis tapes. Actually, they’re not tapes. I don’t know why I called them tapes. Maybe I’ve finally become one of those constantly confused little old ladies. Every song is a record, every guy under forty is “such a nice young man” and every problem can be solved with a cup of tea and a little sit.

Anyway, so I’ve been listening to these self-hypnosis whatevers, and Paul McKenna is promising to transform me into a skinny, confident, genius billionaire or something like that. I didn’t actually read the small print, but I think that’s what’s supposed to happen. But all that actually seems to be happening is that I wake up at midnight, (yes, I know that to all you young movers and shakers that’s practically the afternoon, but Grams needs her beauty rest) and my ears are aching from the ear buds, my mind is spinning, and all these random lines of nonsense are begging to be written down.

I think that I convince myself when I’m barely functioning that I’m some sort of prodigy, rather than an inept, clumsy moron with a massive urge to go to the bathroom. I’ve met a few people in my life who have been such a special sort of thick that they think they’re genii. That’s me when I’m half-asleep. I’m an imbecilic egomaniac. There’s a massive probability that I will storm the University Challenge stage in my pyjamas, burbling about the nesting habitats of cheeses, or the sound barrier of marmalade. If only I could grab myself in that moment, shake myself and scream “Wake up Alice!” …Or maybe something that makes slightly more sense.

Anyway, it’s not all bad. There are a few plus points to my sleep problems.

  1. I know what the coffee shop manager is REALLY like. Also she didn’t seem that great at WoW, so ha. The next time she gives me a plain soya latte instead of hitting me up with some caramel syrup, I’m totally gonna insult the stupid pandas.
  2. Maybe one day (night?) I will come up with something more meaningful than a commentary on the state of my bedroom. Hey, maybe I’ll write the next great American novel, only in British form. It could happen.
  3. Paul McKenna is totally transforming me into the next Richard Branson/Tyra Banks hybrid. I can just feel it.

So yeah. Watch this space. I’ll just leave you with these words of wis- Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

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