Normally I don't mind Mondays. In fact, my least favourite day of the week is Tuesday. Monday, does what it says on the tin: it's the beginning of the week and a person can be forgiven for moaning a lot about it. Tuesday, however, is one sneaky mofo. You get Monday out the way, over and done with and then Tuesday is filled with twice the horrors of Monday. Don't ask me why. I haven't figured it out yet.
Today would have been better, had I been asleep when it kicked off. I wasn't. Not only was I wide awake, but I was awake for the first couple of hours of Monday. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's been many, many years since I've endured the fug of sleep deprivation. Seventeen in fact. I remember I was ever so pleased with myself, having produced Boy, in a hazy, hallucinatory kind of way. I drifted from nap time to nap time, whenever Boy slept, I did. No, I wasn't proud. I didn't care if it was 11 o'clock in the morning or 3 in the afternoon. The minute his eyes shut, so did mine. In fact, the mother-son bond was so strong, I always woke up just before he did. He could be alseep in the other room, I'd wake up, listen to silence and in a couple of minutes time there would come the waaah that would announce his awakedness.
I digress. The point being, I don't do well without sleep, preferably a lot of it.
I have an amazing, reciprocal relationship with my bed. We are deeply in love. I see my bed and I start to smile. I sigh in the pleasure of the warm, fluffy duvet; my gorgeous V & A bedding, the fairy lights hung over my bed. Insomnia is a rare thing for me. It simply doesn't trouble me. Oh, I occasionally wake up at 3 am and don't go back to sleep for a couple of hours, it's just I don't mind being snuggled down, letting the thoughts ramble through my brain until I drop off again.
Last night, we watched Battle for Los Angeles, Boy and I. In terms of quality cinema, it was shit. But highly entertaining shit. They couldn't have squeezed any more macho, military bullshit in there if they tried. And let me tell you Ladies and Gentlemen, they tried very, very hard. However, I'm a big fan of watching macho men, exchanging derring-do banter, blowing the bejeezus out of things. For I am easily pleased (yes, that does explain quite a few of my previous relationships). The dvd finished late and by the time I finished pottering around, annoying Boy, annoying people on-line, it was later than anticipated.
One of the things guaranteed to ensure wide-awakedness is setting your alarm on one's phone and seeing you only have 6 hours and 45 mins before it's due to go off. That works no matter how sleepy or exhausted you are. I probably would have fared better if Boy hadn't wondered in at 4 am to announce he couldn't sleep. Or if I wasn't worried about getting up in time to leave the cheque for the milkman before he sent the bailiffs round. Or if I wasn't worried about being bright-eyed and bushy tailed to do the copywriting I knew was waiting for me at work.
Thus, Monday has been very Monday today. The reason for this rambling and pointless blogpost? Simples. 7.30 pm is too early for me to go to bed. Even for me.
Bank Holiday Sunday
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