While my intense aversion to any kind of Noise is part of my insomnia convoy, Overthinking is the lead car. Overthinking has all the maps to the best self-persecutory locations along the route to Awakesville and – gallingly for Control – manages the travel schedule.

Anyone with insomnia will confirm that there be dragons. In bed, even the most exhausted insomniac will go all Goldilocks: the bed is too hard / pillow too soft / bedding too hot / arm outside blankets too cold, mouth too dry, drink some water, now toilet needed, start all over again. A series of positions will occur, each of which will boast it’s unique brand of not-quite-rightness.

You steer your insomnia convoy on a detour through all the stupid things you’ve said or done. Ever. You check that your previous cognition of these events hasn’t changed. Yep, you’re still a massive loser. You then leave the bed, perhaps to try one of those finger in the dyke (yes, alright, settle down up the back) methods the old wives have taught us. A glass of warm milk! That will help. Does it come with a sledge hammer over the head? Then DON’T FUCKING BOTHER.

Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.

Your husband stops snoring long enough to wake up and ask crossly, “Are you still up?”, then insisting that you come back to bed so you can lie beside him as he rubs your exhausted nose in how easily he can return to the land of nod.

Back to bed. Husband’s snoring now requires application of earplugs. You overlook all the useless foam crap ones that people who’ve never actually needed earplugs before buy, and go straight for those that mould into our ear holes like Polyfilla (or ‘spackling paste’ for my US reader).

You lie awake listening to your own pulse rattle around your brain because your super-fancy earplugs are actually too good. You can’t catch a break. Now, you’re listening to the beat of your own heart, which sounds oddly like the scene in movies where they do the pregnancy ultrasound – squelchy – and just like the people in those scenes this is about the time you have a little cry. But not too much, because you’re stoic through it all.


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