Tag Archives: insomnia

Notes from a Decaying Island

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I was awake at 6.40 this morning, pondering on the subject of insomnia. More particularly why I sleep better in a chair than I do in a bed. I managed three hours in a chair last night, and woke feeling very rested. I also felt cold and stiff and had to spend ten minutes relocating my limbs. Sleeping in chairs is a pastime for the young.

Anyway, after a trip to the bathroom and some time feeling warm but wakened, I decided to call it a night and get up. By 6.30 I was at the computer, checking emails, answering comments and reading a few blogs. I then went of Amazon to buy a couple of bits and claim a refund for an order they seem to have lost.

It rapidly became 8.30 and after a leisurely breakfast and some planning, it is now just after 10.00. How the time flies!

Robin Hood lurking in the Forest

I suppose that’s what happens when you live in a decaying country with weak leaders and an evil Mayor of London. Still, as I said to Julia, although we miss out on the benefits of the USA’s high living standards, strong leadership and gun ownership, I’m quite happy with the way we are. We will just have to put up with universal healthcare, low murder rates and  women having  control over their own bodies. It’s obviously an imperfect system, but not every country can achieve the peak of perfection.

As for our “horrible, vicious, disgusting mayor” in London, I have to admit that I don’t know much about him, but even he has some good points – he’s never been photographed with Jeffrey Epstein, for instance.

Pictures are random shots from previous Decembers.

Robin at Clumber, Nottinghamshire

Day 64

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Here I am, firmly in the territory of the insomniac, and wondering what to say. I have decided to finish with the numbered titles because, as Tootlepedal said, it does tend to make you more aware of the passing time. However, I confess that tonight, I will be glad just to slap a number on it and go to bed.

I had a disturbed night lat night, a strange dream and, after returning from work, an evening of intermittent napping in my chair. As a result, I wasn’t tired at bedtime.

This evening I did some research on poetry magazines, took my methotrexate (ten tiny tablets once a week) and began to catalogue my medallion collection.

The irony of methotrexate, for those of you who are not familiar with it, is that they are very fiddly tablets, not much bigger than the head of a dress-making pin. I take them for arthritis, which even with the drugs, still makes my fingers inconveniently stiff. You would have thought that tablets to treat a condition that causes such a loss of manual dexterity would be big, rather than tiny. Normally they make things, like print and keys, bigger for us old folk.

The medallion collection is intended to be 100 in number, with one for every year from 1900 to 2000, which is actually 101. I decided on that because there are always such arguments about when centuries begin and end. The 20th century actually started on January 1, 1901 and ended on December 31, 2000. However, we all celebrated the new millennium on December 31, 1999. I could do the right thing, start it at the year 1901 and argue with people about it for years to come. Or I can start it in 1900 and explain to the few people who notice, that I want a quiet life more than I want to be 100% accurate.

The medal for 1900 commemorates the centenary of the death of poet William Cowper. I now know a lot more about him than I did this afternoon, which shows how useful numismatics is as a hobby. I now know, for instance, that I have been pronouncing his name wrong. It’s pronounced Cooper.

 

Too Much Sleep!

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I think I must have had too much sleep over the last few days because last night I found myself lying awake and listening to Julia breathing.

And that was how the concept of the Wifeorgan was born. It’s a little like an organ but with the added benefit of being very soothing to a married man: while he can hear his wife sleeping he can relax – free of fears about comments on his dress sense, demands for mature behaviour and suggestions that he might like to rethink his last comment.

I have checked. There are some weird musical instruments, but none involving sleeping wives.

There will be three main problems –

Getting them to agree. I can already hear a rising chorus of female criticism on the grounds of immaturity, practicality and having nothing to wear. At least we won’t have a problem with the perennial favourite – nobody’s bum looks big under a duvet.

Logistics – transporting a large number of sleeping women is going to be tricky. Not as tricky, I suspect, as transporting a lot of non-sleeping women and making them go to sleep on cue, which is likely to a a horror second only to herding meercats. It is going to take some planning.

Tuning. I’m not going to invite any husband out there to comment, but in my experience this can be tricky. One night you can be wafted away to beautiful dreams by the gentle breathing of the woman you love. The next night you may find yourself hanging onto the duvet with the fervour of the Flying Dutchman as it billows in the air movement produced by a demon imitating a chainsaw killing pigs. I’m not saying anyone in our house snores, but if you want to infer it from my words, please feel free.

And that my friends, fresh from a place hollowed out by insomnia, is my plan for the Wifeorgan.

It’s possible there might be an Arts Council Grant in this…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Feverfew

 

One of Those Nights

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I’m just recovering from one of those nights.

At this point I pause, wondering if anyone else actually suffers from this sort of night, or if I’m about to reveal too much about my life.

So, here goes.

I woke around 5am, which I consider early. At that time of the morning, even when it’s clear that sleep isn’t an option, I tend to stay in bed. Or, to be more accurate, at that time in the morning I tend to get up, take a trip to the bathroom, reflect on my age, and then go back to bed.

We need a new mattress, but I’m trying to last until winter before buying a new one. It’s psychological – winter is the time to think f sleep, spring should be the time to think of skipping through meadows of wild flowers.

Awake, bad back, semi-darkness, and the doubts begin to creep in.

How is Number One son doing in his new job in Malta? How is Number Two son doing in his Finals, and is his plan to work in Canada a good one? Are three part-time jobs providing the life we want? Am I going to die of a heart attack before I sort my affairs out?* (Business affairs, that is, I’m not much in favour of infidelity and, to be frank, even if I was, I don’t have the energy these days). What have I done with my life? Where has it all gone? What did I do wrong? Could I have spent my money better? Why can’t I budget properly? Where did all this clutter come from?

And then I descend to the smaller incidents and embarrassments, the times I said or did the wrong thing, the times when I couldn’t think of the witty reply that would have turned things round and made me feel better, the way that things went wrong on the farm.

Familiar?

If it is, I sympathise with you, but I’m glad to find I’m not alone.

If it isn’t, you are very lucky.

I’m going to post a few cheerful photos now and try a spot of optimism.

Robin
Aconites are out
Squirrel in a bin – Clitheroe Castle

Is it working for you?

*The doctor seems to think I am.