Monday, 23 July 2012

The hours that I don't sleep

Sleeping and not sleeping; sleepers and not sleepers, or are they non-sleepers? I know people who love sleeping, which seems like a strange thing to like, a semi-conscious state. Do we not mean that we love dozing, the blurry half-way in between where we get to enjoy it most? In this lucid state where we can influence dreams whilst riding on the back of slumber's heat and weight. If you realise you are dreaming, you have to try to fly, surely.

An insomniac remarked that when someone tells of a broken leg, others don't go to great lengths telling tales of how their legs work excellently, and in fact they did a 12 mile walk last week and they both stood up really well. But with sleep problems we all feel happy to gloat about how we are one of the world's sleepers.... any table, any chair... and I think I am now paying the price for smugly inheriting the sleep gene, waving my Zs in other people's faces. Put a coat over my head and I'm out like a light; any jumper for a pillow, any train carriage fold-away tray table.

Not so now the sandman has lost my address and the alphabet frequently stops at Y. Standard tactics? Hey, nobody can control those sheep. Those bloody smarmy hurdling sheep.

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