insomniac with jetlag #3 and a dog in a footy jumper

The elusive eight hours sleep. I got 'em. Bed at 8, up at midnight, bed again at 2, up again at 6 - for some reason I'm still on London time, but at least I'm sleeping!

Okay, that's the boring stuff out of the way. So when I woke up I went for a run with Angie-the-exceptionally-wimpy-but-cute-mut to the park full of ex-cons, mad old bastards and displaced little hello-kitty girls with their little white yappers. It's a curious place when the sun's coming up. The creek makes bubbling gurgles as it skips on its way past gangs of water birds of every kind. These fat, waddling, big-footed birds at that time of morning are surprisingly busy. Starting the day, they chatter, quack and squeak, and trip over their big water-bird feet as they head to the creek to bathe and duck below its surface leaving their tails and feet waggling in the air. I wouldn't bathe in that creek. It's grey and smells like a washing machine. So the scene at daybreak here is kind of rocky wildness and avian bliss meets storm water drain and urban decay.

On our run, Angie and I ran past a lady in a black balaclava with two big black dogs on leashes; a man with a tatooed face, a beanie with a pom-pom and a snarling, leaping, half-crazed german shepherd that he hung on to for dear life; and an old man out for a jog running so slowly he was basically going heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe. The best of the bunch tho' was a little man, shuffling through the trees in his old clapped-out bomber jacket, fusty full-of-farts tracksuit pants and old black beanie. He was running, head down and brow furrowed, his hands clutched up near his chin like the old boxer, or maybe just old fighter, that judging by his 's' shaped nose, he clearly was. You wouldn't mess with him is what I'm saying, even tho' he was in his 60s or 70s. His dog? It was a little white, curly-haired, pug-faced, toe-tapping yapper, that was skipping in circles around him in the wet grass grinning from little flapping ear to little flapping year, showing his tiny little pearly whites with the smile that dog's aren't supposed to have. The dog I should say also had a jumper on - a sleeveless, knitted western-bulldogs jumper. So, this is what the world looks like after eight hours sleep? Lovin' it!

insomniac with jetlag #2 - sleep?

I'm going to regret keeping these posts I think. So boring. It's been two weeks and three days. Still waking at 3 in the morning... maybe I always will. The night before, no sleep at all. The night before that? Five hours and twenty-three minutes. And before that, four. I could list the hours and minutes of sleep I've had every night since I got home, and I could chart the rest of my life on my receipt of hourly units of sleep - but that would be sad.

I'm beginning to lose that stiff upper lip, positive, silver-lining spotting approach to my state of sleeplessnes. It's been a long, long, long, long, long, long time since I was properly rested. And I'm not sure what's worse... not getting to sleep, or having it stolen from me. When I wake in the the night, at that second I wake up, sleep is gone, utterly and completely gone. Within a moment the deepest, longest, darkest slumber is ripped away, hauled in on some invisible pulley, by some invisible hand. And it leaves me exhausted, cheated and mournful, lying there in the dark with eyes wide open, wondering how it can be that I'm so catagorically awake. Not drowsy or groggy, no remnants of sleep to shake off or surrender to, just bright, goggle-eyed awakeness. Not bloomin fair!

insomniac with jetlag

I've been up since 3 this morning for the fifth time in a week. I get up. I eat. Drink tea. Sit at my computer and write and read the mountain of emails in my inbox - which after only one day is overflowing with demands for instantaneous attention. My eyes feel hot and gritty and when I close them they water. It's cold and so silent my ears are ringing. My mind is clear - crystal clear. Until about lunchtime when I'll slump, and I wont be able to keep my eyes open. I'll get that jetlaggy thing where you blink and in that split second when you close your eyes your brain shuts off and you're asleep. Your head bobs forward, nod, and you're awake again with your eyes pulling down willing you to blink again. The insomnia of jetlag - sleeplessness without the speedy buzz of normal insomnia that gets you through the day. It's Day 12 of my return. I must get back to normal soon. The fog's cleared, but for the occasional lapse into stationary inertia in the middle of a purposeful deed. My appetite's adjusted. It's just the body clock... soon. It must be over soon...