Insomnia
It comes to me sometimes, cursed insomnia. It's my 3rd day without meds to knock me out. I hate it. I envy my sister Jackie who can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I wish I was like that. If I go to bed early, I will be wide awake by 2. I stay up late until I feel sleepy and know every ab crunching, face tightening ad on late night T.V. I want to smack Victoria whatever a name in her surgically tightened face as she advertises her secret cream. We all know you were married to a plastic surgeon, babe, and if I were you, I would be suing him.
It does have some benefits, insomnia, however. I can get on the net at least as the boys havent drained all the wifi with their interactive games of virtual war fare. C.O.D and Assasins Creed. And I can write without constant interruption. I thought once the girls grew up I would not hear the wail of Mum, Mum, Mum.
Yvette just stands at the end of the unit and yells it out. Mum, are you awake? Sometimes I ignore the kids but Yvette has a voice like a drill that always startles me. Don't worry I have tried to ignore her but her voice can get through music, several layers of cotton wool and even blue tack.
Don't try blue tack, it leaves a sticky grey residue in your ears for days, that requires eucalyptus oil and cotton buds to remove.
Around here, it's either a kid or an animal that requires attention, somehow. During the day. If I ignore the grumpy muscled up cat, he flings himself at the fly wire door until frustrated I get up. He will come in, yowl, roll on the fluffy white rug in ecstasy and stare at the keys hanging on their hook. I will sigh, grab the keys and let him in the main house.
Kayko, the fat Husky, the laziest dog known to man will then arrive, next and howl and talk at the door until I go out and make a fuss of her. She thinks she's human and wants human food and petting. Then the baby arrives, Cruz, a two year old of such delight I can't ignore him. He loves his nanny and has to see me, hug me for a long time, come in, grab a book, open the fridge, inspect the Christmas tree, say Wow, star, tree, ball, Santa, always in the same order.
If I am lucky I can persuade him to go see Mummy, then Acer arrives and has something he wants to show me. I go outside and Yvette will always be there, combing the fat husky for a flea and want to chat about everyone and eveything.
So we chat, plan the day, discuss the weather and what it's going to be. Hot or cold. Even in a hot day she will be freezing, guaranteed. Then I inspect the front yard, the barriers we put up to stop the little boys racing out into the road and flinging themselves in front of a car.
And so the day goes. I try and write for at least six hours until 2pm at least. Yvette and I always used to take breaks, morning tea and lunch but now the boys are at day care three days a week, we dont. She didnt want them to go, now she loves it.
If I dont have insomnia I get up at 5am and work till 11am. 7 days a week. And after I garden, shop, clean up the unit, yard, make something, fix something, pay bills, scour the op shops for collectables and retro stuff. Examine shoes. And tell myself I have enough.
Then the kids are home from school and we go through the whole meet and greet routine again. I went shopping the other night and came home to a sobbing Cruz standing on my step, saying Nan nan nan. Mum was home but he wanted to see the tree. And couldnt understand why I wasn't answering. Nothing like a sobbing two year old to break your heart. He knows it mindst you and has me twisted around his chubby little fingers.
When I gave up smoking I was insomniac for three weeks. The doctor gave me Ambien. On the first night I took it I was at North Stradbroke island with my sister and her group of Soroptomists. All genteel ladies that don't swear, bite or scratch. I was relaxing reading the paper in the floor, not being part of the proceedings. Apparently after taking one Ambien and not sleeping for all that time, I passed out face down on the paper and as Jackie tried to help me up, swore, dribbled, probably farted, hell I don't know.
I fought Jackie like a mad woman, told her I wanted my other sister, not her, tried to walk out the back door, went face down on the bed, fully clothed. Said, fuck it, I'm not getting undressed and slept for twelve hours. All the genteel ladies looked at me keenly the next day and gave me a wide berth. Who can blame them? It's not like I could storm off, as I am likely to do, as we were
on a fucking island!
The only thing there was one shop, and a lake and lots and lots of bush. And the only way there was by a decent ferry ride. And all I wanted to do was smoke, all I could think about was a cigarette and I eyed off all these decent women as somehow retarded. How could they be so sweet and nice when I was like a raging maniac. Hostile, rude, snappy.
And I was very very fat. That was one if my excuses not to want to give up smoking. I haven't smoked now for two years and I smoked for Australia, then. Then I hit 84 kg, a ridiculous weight for me. I am only a little shorty. And then I hit Camp Eden, big, fat and unfit. So unfit. I scowled at the fit ones. I refused some if the classes. I once again knew best. But I didnt. I really didn't.. I was fooling myself.
Now two years on I am 58 kg. I dance every day for at least an hour. I walk as much as I can and do housework at speed. I find I have to burn off excess energy all the time. Sitting still for any length of time is annoying, now. A switch went off in my brain, a switch that said, health, not vanity, just health. And the ratio is 70 percent food, 30 percent exercise. And I also told myself I didnt eat much. Ha. That's rubbish.
I am still insomniac, however, and cranky, but hey, maybe that's just me.
Love Janette
That's what lack of sleep does to you. Makes you psychotic within days.
