Wee small hours


I mentioned earlier that it has been exactly a fortnight since I heard those words: ‘You have cancer.’  Since then, the world seems to have twisted off its axis; time has lost its meaning, and I am pretty certain that any minute now we will be seeing ‘The seasons alter’ and ‘change / Their wonted liveries‘.  Sheesh, would’ya listen to me?  Grandiose or what?  Deluded.  And with an overinflated sense of importance.

However, something is preventing me from sleeping (what could that possibly be, I wonder??).  I am becoming far too familiar with 3am.  And not in a good way.  Sometimes I am woken with vaguely disturbing dreams that are just out of reach as I achieve consciousness.  Sometimes I wake as if in mid conversation with myself.  Sometimes I am in mid conversation with others.  Always I wake fully alert.  It is probably the most awake I feel all day.  Without wishing to be anymore dramatic than I have already been – actually, I’m not sure that’s possible having suggested the world has spun off its axis because of me – my nights feel a little like John Fuseli’s painting of The Nightmare:


without the donkey.  There are definitely no donkeys in my nightmares.  Chest crushing demons yes.  Donkeys no.

Tonight I am doing my utmost to combat this situation.  I really have to as the shadows under my eyes are beginning to become a defining feature.  Not that I am vain or anything.   The plan is as follows.  I have been off caffeine since midday.  I am burning ‘night-time’ oils from Neal’s Yard.  I am already in my pjs.  My soothing tea is being sipped.  I am about shut down my mac and all screens.  The sheep will be counted.  Bed time stories will be told.

If this plan fails, I may have to take up knitting.  Desperate times, people, desperate times.


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