Monday, October 09, 2006
Cannae fucking sleep
Tried to get up early but having had no sleep over the past few night prevented it. I'm getting the urge for mega-early starts, and walking through Edinburgh in the dark before everyone is awake. Why???
When I woke up it was to bright sunshine and damp streets. I'd slept in. Looks like we had heavy rain overnight and now Mr Blue Sky is everywhere. Reminded me of the ELO song from nineteen seventy something.
People close to me say I'm talking rubbish with this erratic sleep patterns, and that I don't have any problem getting to sleep. What people don't see is the nights when I just lie there, unable to let the tiredness that I know is lurking, cawl over me and subdue my conscious.
What people don't see is the nights I wake up at 1am, my body convinced I've slept a full night, then unable to capture it again. so I get up and sit in the lounge, drink some milk, watch BBC News 24 or write.
It's not unusual to be up all night now. It's happening more and more. It's the unseen curse, and it's doing my head in.
If I let it go in its own way, I would turn night into day and then back round again. It would keep working in a cyclic motion where my body would simply not fit in to day time hours any more, but work its way round, an hour a night, until it did. Then it would start over again.
It's not that I'm particularly stressed or worried about anything, and I think that's part of the problem. I can't define it, pin-point a reason as to why it's happening. It just is. Some nights I want to go to bed, but I just don't want to sleep.
Work is terribly boring. I even had people commenting on how tired I was looking, so it must be bad. I could feel my cheeks hanging bruised from being awake too much and I'm not about to statr wearing make-up to hide it.
Worked on Slick and proof-read Poolside Poetry using the printed manuscript. Always, always, always a vital part of publication. No matter how many times you draft and double-check on-screen, you always spot mistakes/improvements when it's printed off and in front of you in black and white.
I now have a date for the interview with the Scottish poet for The Scruffy Dog Review - next Monday evening. I'll call to confirm again on Sunday, but the time and place are set.
I contacted a local bookshop I've been meaning to approach for Fringe Fantastic. I've asked for a meeting and promoted the benefits of a mutual exchange. Hopefully the owner will be reciprocal, because I do happen to think it will be an important venture.
Pippin is losing chunks of hair. Great wispy patches of fluff were filling out a soft base inside her hutch when I got home. I took her out and checked here eyes and skin. Looked ok so I clipped her nails and cleaned out the hutch. Hope it's just a cycle they sometimes go through, but if it continues it might have to be a visit to the vet to clear it up.
Maybe a wee bath this weekend in some "special" shampoo will help. Should be a laugh - she's not a wee thing any more.
When I woke up it was to bright sunshine and damp streets. I'd slept in. Looks like we had heavy rain overnight and now Mr Blue Sky is everywhere. Reminded me of the ELO song from nineteen seventy something.
People close to me say I'm talking rubbish with this erratic sleep patterns, and that I don't have any problem getting to sleep. What people don't see is the nights when I just lie there, unable to let the tiredness that I know is lurking, cawl over me and subdue my conscious.
What people don't see is the nights I wake up at 1am, my body convinced I've slept a full night, then unable to capture it again. so I get up and sit in the lounge, drink some milk, watch BBC News 24 or write.
It's not unusual to be up all night now. It's happening more and more. It's the unseen curse, and it's doing my head in.
If I let it go in its own way, I would turn night into day and then back round again. It would keep working in a cyclic motion where my body would simply not fit in to day time hours any more, but work its way round, an hour a night, until it did. Then it would start over again.
It's not that I'm particularly stressed or worried about anything, and I think that's part of the problem. I can't define it, pin-point a reason as to why it's happening. It just is. Some nights I want to go to bed, but I just don't want to sleep.
Work is terribly boring. I even had people commenting on how tired I was looking, so it must be bad. I could feel my cheeks hanging bruised from being awake too much and I'm not about to statr wearing make-up to hide it.
Worked on Slick and proof-read Poolside Poetry using the printed manuscript. Always, always, always a vital part of publication. No matter how many times you draft and double-check on-screen, you always spot mistakes/improvements when it's printed off and in front of you in black and white.
I now have a date for the interview with the Scottish poet for The Scruffy Dog Review - next Monday evening. I'll call to confirm again on Sunday, but the time and place are set.
I contacted a local bookshop I've been meaning to approach for Fringe Fantastic. I've asked for a meeting and promoted the benefits of a mutual exchange. Hopefully the owner will be reciprocal, because I do happen to think it will be an important venture.
Pippin is losing chunks of hair. Great wispy patches of fluff were filling out a soft base inside her hutch when I got home. I took her out and checked here eyes and skin. Looked ok so I clipped her nails and cleaned out the hutch. Hope it's just a cycle they sometimes go through, but if it continues it might have to be a visit to the vet to clear it up.
Maybe a wee bath this weekend in some "special" shampoo will help. Should be a laugh - she's not a wee thing any more.
Colin 12:19 pm