WHAT are you meant to do when you’re body clock goes nuts?
I don’t know whether I’m coming or going at the moment as I’ve been taken over by a random plague of insomnia.
Usually I can sleep through any noise or disturbance up to and beyond the average Egyptian riot, but lately, not so.
It all began when I had two afternoon naps one weekend a month ago.
I’ve never been the same since.
So far I’ve tried hot water bottles, opening the window, staying up late, soothing milk drinks, staying up even later – all to no avail.
At 2.30am I’m wide awake, same at about 4am, then wide awake at 6am before drifting off just in time to ignore my alarm clock.
The whole thing has added a strange new dimension to my normal life. I’ve watched more old episodes of South Park than I care to think about and discovered a whole new avenue of things to worry about.
Suddenly waking up in the middle of the night tends to make the mind wander so I’ve been keeping it busy, picking over everything from my horse and her evil alter ego, to the holes in my shoes and the recession.
And when I do drift off I tend to have irritating dreams where I’m trying to get to sleep and failing because a) the martians have landed b) we’re being invaded or c) a giant tabby cat is strangling me (This is not made up – I did actually dream this which seems worryingly mad in the cold light of day).
I’ve now reached that point chronicled by Ed Norton in Fight Club where I’m permanently neither awake or asleep and starting to feel slightly like I imagine a zombie would.
If I start hallucinating that I’ve got a new friend called Tyler Durden then I’m in trouble, though if he looks like Brad Pitt I’m not going to complain too loudly.
As a result of permanent exhaustion, my good habits are beginning to run off into the night like escaped hamsters.
Homemade soup for dinner has been booted out in favour of the convenience of waffles and beans, while my evening runs have been abandoned in favour of watching Two and a Half Men in a daze.
This will not do, and I intend to shepherd myself back into a healthy routine this week through sheer and mighty willpower.
Just a few more abuses of the snooze button and I’ll mend my ways – I swear.
I HAVE bargain Tourette syndrome.
While wandering around the city centre on Saturday I found a lovely little pair of grey pixie boots for £5, which I snapped up straight away by elbowing my way to the till and keeping a beedy eye on the sales assistant in case she tried to keep them for herself.
Since then, I have been so consumed with delight that everyone who has expressed even the slightest bit of approval of them has been immediately treated to me, shouting at foghorn levels, “They were only FIVE POUNDS!!!!”
Clearly this is a ludicrously small number of English quids to pay for grey pixie boots and I intend to let the world know about it.
After all, it’s got to be good for everyone to hear a positive economic story in these testing times?