The last two nights have seen new lows in sleep longevity for yours truly. My body clock appears to have developed an alarm which, with the mischief of an advent ‘elf on the shelf’, finds it humorous to end my slumber at around 1.30am.
Consequently, if it wasn’t for the caffeine infusing qualities of my good friend Douwe Egberts medium gold I’d likely be displaying daytime symptoms of narcolepsy.
These would be unthinkable situations where as my wife Karen spoke I transcended into a slumber-like state; not registering one word of her oration ……… Coming to think of it, if they’re the symptoms of narcolepsy, I’ve probably suffered from it for thirty years.
I’ve employed various strategies to combat overnight sleep deprivation. Amongst these, the ‘old wives tale’ of attempting to induce a state of slumber by counting sheep. Unfortunately, this didn’t resolve the issue, it only raised the question of how the hell twenty-one sheep got into my home!
I also tried tricking my body clock by not going to sleep until after 1.30am. However, due to the requirement of a toilet break around 2.10am, this approach was equally unsuccessful. On reflection, perhaps drinking two pints of water while waiting for the time to pass 1.30am was possibly a foolhardy strategy.
Karen has been very supportive in my attempts to resolve this sleep-deprivation. In fact, on returning from our local store this morning, she entering the living room to inform me “I’ve brought you something back to help you sleep, Gary.”…… It turned out to be a wooden mallet!
During a drive to my sister Helen’s yesterday, I mentioned this sleep longevity problem to my mum who’s had similar issues during recent family challenges. This led to the old lady asking:-
“Have you tried waiting until after 1.30am before going to bed?”
“Yes, mum…. It didn’t work.” I replied, despondently.
“It didn’t work for me either……. I needed to get up at about 2.10am to pee after drinking loads of water while I waited.”she retorted….. Leading to me sighing, prior to returning my full attention to the road ahead.
As we continued along the M62 westbound, my mum happened to recall “Your dad used to work with a guy years ago who suffered from extreme insomnia, but apparently hasn’t had trouble sleeping for the last nine months.”
“What approach did he take to resolve his problem, mum?” I queried, in the hope I might be getting nearer a solution to my dang sleep-deprivation.
“None…… He died in March!” came her ridiculous, but not unexpected response.
Deeming that an unsuitable consideration for my conundrum, I sighing again in frustration, then muttered “Wind up merchant!” under my breath.
A few miles nearer our destination of our Helen’s home in Cheshire, my mum turned in her passenger seat and, looking quite serious for a change, chirped:-
“Oh Gary, I know what I meant to ask you!”
“What’s that mum?” I retorted cautiously; pondering what loaded inquiry was about to cross my bows.
“What the hell are those twenty one sheep doing in the back of the car?!”