Friday, 2 March 2012
INSOMNIA - THE WRITER'S FRIEND... OR FOE?
*Sigh*... you remember that blissful feeling of sinking into a freshly made bed? The plumpness of the pillows? The way the cotton slides against your bare skin... cool, yet comforting? How the darkness surrounds you as you drift gently off to sleep? Wonderful isn't it? After a hard day of the day job and then an even harder evening trying to write, to give voice to the clamoring stories in your head... the irritatingly cheerful plot bunnies that bound around your head with their little fluffy white tails bobbing like little puffs of cloud--- there is nothing like that first few marvellous seconds of sliding into your well loved and longed for bed.
And so you sleep... even more bunnies assailing you as you float on that endless sea of unconsciousness-- for about two hours.
You desperately hope that this is the night your bladder will not wake you because you know... as soon as your eyes flutter open, they are not going to close again. As soon as you have been awake for more than 3.2 seconds, there is a big bear of a man, or a slender waif or even a vampire with an intense gaze standing in line, tapping their watches, waiting their turn to start telling you how they think they should be the star of your next story and what marvellous twists and turns you can incorporate to drive your readers insane. Bastards.
Trying to ignore them, you turn over, batting at their poking fingers as you start counting sheep. Which works until the bloody sheep stop jumping over the fence and ask you if you've ever considered that sheep need love too--ram meets ram, are shunned by flock... you get the gist. You even resort to trying a trick that Patrick Jane, from The Mentalist, told another character in a long forgotten episode... concentrate on your breathing... in for one and out for two. Of course you get it wrong and end up hyperventilating into a paper bag, so that's no use either.
After looking at the clock for the hundredth time and registering that another hour has ticked by while you've been muttering to yourself, you get up. Do you go into the kitchen and make a hot milky drink? Do you flick on the TV and try and lull yourself to sleep with some boring tat? For a while maybe. But over in the corner, is your PC... moonlight from the chink in the curtains casting pale beams of light across it's darkened screen. It's beckoning you... begging you to walk those few feet... to depress the space bar... to bring it to life.
No! You scream the word in your head! I just want to sleep! Let me sleep! But you somehow find yourself wandering past the computer unit and accidentally on purpose knocking into it (even though you have an eight foot gap to walk through, you still manage to hit it) and then it's too late. The tower whirs into life, the screen flickers and your first thought is... I'll just check my email... then I'll go back to bed. Yeah, right.
Twenty minutes later you have a coffee in your hand and are handing another biscuit to Roger the ram and asking how he knew Ronaldo was the one for him...