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.)
