It’s 5.52am Greenwich Mean Time. At 2.15am today the clocks went back an hour in the UK, which makes my insomnia even more frustrating than usual.
I would have quite liked a lie in today but my mind was whirling at 1.30am after only going to bed just before midnight. I’ve been up and downstairs like a yo-yo since then, trying to convince my mind to catch up with my body in the fatigue stakes, rather than lagging behind like a sulky child.
I’ve probably done everything I shouldn’t have done through the long, wee hours of darkness:
I made a cup of coffee (decaf) and ate two slices of toast at 2am in case hunger was an issue. I’ll admit, I put sugary black currant jam on (I know it was wrong but it tasted so right!).
I read some of a psychological thriller book I’m currently reading.
I listened to Gentle Whispering ASMR on YouTube which normally helps me. Unfortunately it was an old one where Maria is showing journals so my stationery fetish kicked in and I ended up watching it instead of allowing her soothing voice to help me drift off to the land of nod.
I looked at potential work at home jobs online as I’m worried about making ends meet when I go onto half pay. There are key points in my treatment where I have been warned I won’t be up to working in my usual job so perhaps this is an alternative.
I browsed Pinterest, one of my favourite pastimes, and found lots of interesting ideas. Maybe I should have looked up insomnia aids while I was on there.
All the while, not a car was on the road. Not a door opened or closed. The only sound was that of Rincewind snoring on my bed (I swear that cat snores as loudly as my son!).
Ironically, I noticed a statistic that people who get less than 7-8 hours a night of good quality sleep are more at risk of disease or chronic illness. Which made my brain even more active… I mean what’s the quality assurance process for said sleep? How would I know?
And now I’m writing on my blog about cancer. I think I’ll give myself an F for underachievement on the sleep techniques tonight and hope that tomorrow is better. Or maybe I just need to accept that I won’t be getting much shut eye until after my appointment on 1st November is over. By then I’ll know what stage my bogeyman is at, how I’ll fight it and with what army. I wish this bogeyman hadn’t missed the memo that they’re meant to lurk under beds, in wardrobes or behind doors, not in someone’s breast…
It’s 6.22am and the new dawn is just peeking into the sky, a signal for the birds that it’s their final curtain call ready for today’s performance.
Perhaps they will sing me to sleep.
Perhaps with my thoughts on my blog rather than in my head I’ll have a chance of my eyes staying closed for a few hours.
Perhaps I’ll wake up and find the cancer has just been a terrifying, malevolent, lucid nightmare.