Sunday, 8 October 2017

Insomniac Writing - The Victorian Pervert and Imposter Digestives

Insomniac Writing - The Victorian Pervert and Imposter Digestives

(Scrawled in pen last night at 2 am and typed up now. No lead image because, you know, I'm shattered.)


I rarely suffer with insomnia, but tonight I feel myself unable to sleep, mainly due to a mind that just won’t quieten down and the ruminatory avenues it keeps wanting to stroll along. I accept that, it’s just one of those things.

I read a little more of Grit, a book by Angela Duckworth on passion and perseverance. Ironically, I only get a few more pages chalked off before I find I don’t have the required focus for reading. My brain disengages and flows into rivulets of preoccupation again.

I sit and stare awhile. Mind chatters away. I decide to write down the stuff in my head, purging the bullshit that is keeping me conscious. It flows over 2 sides of A4 and does lessen the load a little. I still feel far too wide awake though.

I turn the light off and lay back down, listening to The Mindful Way Through Depression audiobook I repeatedly listen to in the hope of taking the information in more deeply each time. I manage 45 mins, relax a little bit more. I’ll take that. During this time I did apply my usual relaxation technique (a form of yoga nidra that I personalised and adapted a few years ago). Still wide awake.

Decided to check social media before getting up and going for a pee. Nothing really grabbed me. I know looking at a phone screen is probably harmful for sleep chances but what do I have to lose at this point? I just wanted to spend a few mins looking at a world in which other people were still doing stuff, knowing they were out there.

I got up to go for said pee and found myself catching a glimpse of the Moon. It was very high in the sky so I bent down to get a better look and almost knocked myself out on my TV stand.

‘How did you get that black eye Sir?’
‘I was trying to see the Moon my good man!’
‘Did she have nice ankles in accompaniment?’
‘Verily, they were a goodly distance apart!’

What the fuck? It appears I turn into a Victorian pervert when I’m sleep deprived.

I had that pee, and then found myself at the biscuit tin scoffing imposter digestives. You know the ones, the ones that don’t look like proper digestives but you’d broadly class them as meant to be the same thing. I followed those with a knock-off Nice and a healthy low fat glass of water. Yay for comfort eating.

I lay back on my bed again letting my Buddhist prayer beads trickle through my fingers. I find their grainy wooden texture comforting. I wonder if a bit of mental Om mani pame hum chanting will clear the mind. It does and it doesn’t. I did a full rotation of the beads and got back to the knotty bit again. I threw them half-heartedly across the room. Then I had the idea for writing some bollocks, and here it is.

It’s so quiet at night. I’m not sure if the internal noise of the blood rushing in my ears is louder than the odd sound around me or not. I noticed my nose had gone stuffy. Maybe it was trying to reduce my oxygen intake so I would pass out. Good nose!

I pondered whether to try and create a new swear word. Decided against it. Not sure why now.

I sat like a hunched over Buddha, that if someone entered the room and saw from behind, would think was either dead or masturbating. Maybe he has insomnia you jerk. Lol.

My mind moved to horror survival game Dead by Daylight, which is no real surprise as I’ve played a goodly amount with my good friend lately. I decided I should be more vicious as a Killer, I was losing far too many ranking pips by being overly nice to Survivors. Then I wondered, do paranormal style killers go on holiday? Do they fly? I hope their flights weren’t cancelled too. Is their chainsaw or axe considered carry-on luggage? Oooh matron. Do they get teary eyed when they see the sun rise over the gleaming wing of the plane as it skips over the clouds? Or do they watch something shit on in-flight TV instead? Would any mask or costume get in the way of using the oxygen masks if an emergency happened? I mean, most killers seem to have some kind of breathing issue already, whether it’s not breathing at all, or the raspy sex-pest kind that gurgles down your ear as they chase you.

I’ve been writing for twenty mins. Zoned out a few times there along the way. I did find myself looking at the wood-grain of my bed, specifically two dark swirls that now look like the realistic eyes of a bear. Can’t unsee that, it will stay with me now. Decided to try and drop off to sleep, hopefully to dream of a better life.


(I did fall asleep for a couple of hours. I ended up seeing what it was like to escape in Dead by Daylight by climbing down the escape hatch, telling my mate to not step on my fingers as he followed me down. The hatch is very fucking deep, no bottom in sight. Not sure how the Survivors in the game just leap down. I guess that would be the ultimate irony, escape the Killer, die by shattering bones through 100 ft drop. Interesting dream anyway. Freudian? I hope not.)

No comments:

Post a Comment