Sigh

I couldn’t sleep last night, at all. First my body turned into some kind of roaring furnace. I was so hot I thought I might explode. Then I was just awake. And when I’m awake in the dark I get to thinking and over-thinking and those shadows, you know the ones, flit about and try to suffocate me. I got to a point where I was so tired I just wanted to cry. But I was too tired for even that.

I’m not good without sleep and there are some big, important things I need to deal with that I don’t really want to deal with and they weigh on my mind. Which makes me not able to sleep. Which makes me unable to think straight. Which make things seem even more impossible. And then I can’t sleep. You see how this works?

So I’m a bit miz really. And I fear if anyone prods me, physically or metaphorically, I may dissolve into a puddle on the floor and drip away into nothing.

Midnight swirling

It was one of those nights when thoughts swirl malevolently around my bedroom twisting me up in my bed clothes, breathing hotly on my already burning skin due to the sticky summer night. It’s nights like those that bring things to the fore. Things I don't want to see.

Suddenly those dim, shady figures in the background, the ones that I can push away in the light of day and noise of life, come rushing forward, showing me their faces. Up close, in my face, their stale breath twisting up into my nostrils. They no longer whisper, but scream, directly into my ears, their beady eyes stare directly into mine. There’s no turning away. It hurts my ears.

This is the time to face those truths, here, in the dark, sticky night. Alone. There’s no running, I am rooted to the spot. To fall asleep means falling down that hole, into that vivid dream world, the one that can be, at once, freeing and imprisoning. To stay awake means to face those screaming, beady-eyed, swirling creatures.

The chains are so heavy. The lock is huge. The key is lost.

Certifiable? Maybe

I just read my post from this morning and realised I could be diagnosed certifiably mad by anyone reading it who didn't know me (or, for that matter, anyone who did know me). That's what a lack of sleep, a feeling of lacklustreness at work, and too much coffee too early in the morning will do to you. Either I can blame those things, or I need to get out more.

Or maybe all of those things?

Voices in the night

I was woken up last night by someone saying very loudly, twice, something like "Bracko". This is wierd from two angles. Firstly, what the hell does "Bracko" mean, and secondly, I was alone, except for Big Black Dog, sleeping in the lounge (who has previously never said anything in English) and The Siamese Princess, sleeping on me (ditto).

But I definitely was woken and heard it, loudly. I have a ghost, but she's never spoken before, and she's a she. This was a male voice. Again, I wonder if this was some kind of dream/sleep in-betweenness. Anyway, I decided it best for me to do some investigating as to what this "Bracko" was and if it has some deeper meaning. My searchings resulted only in things that sound similar, but aren't really "Bracko":

Dictionary.com:
Brčko District, a district in Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Wikipedia:
Bačka (Serbian Cyrillic and Rusyn: Бачка, Hungarian: Bácska, Serbian Latin and Croatian: Bačka, Slovak: Báčka) is an area of the Pannonian plain lying between the rivers Danube and Tisa. It is divided between Serbia and Hungary, with small uninhabited pockets of land on the left bank of the Danube which, according to Croatian POV, belong to Croatia, but are under Serbian control since 1991 (see disputes of Croatia and Serbia).

It all seems very Eastern European - perhaps I'm adopted and I have Eastern European routes. I had imaginings of the movie "Black Cat, White Cat" and me, gypsey-like, with a wierd and wonderful family who all play the fiddle, drink too much and throw wild, love-filled parties. Then I remembered that I have my father's chin and my mother's personality and my father's temperment and my mother's disposition and I had to chuck that theory.

I decided I needed to Google it, being The Google Girl. The first three hits were:

1. The Bracko Brothers: a furniture supplier in Calgary. They've been going for 25 years and supply both mass-produced and handcrafted furnitures of all kinds. I like a family business, but couldn't see how this could possibly relate to me. While I do need another bookshelf (mine has got to the stage where the gaps between the books and the next shelf are a being filled with books too), it seems a bit silly to order one from Calgary - one needs to be aware of one's carbon footprint!
2. Bracko Kennels, also in Canada (I wonder if they're related? Maybe I'll e-mail and ask). Breeders of a very fluffy looking small dog called a Shiba Inu - apparently a Japanese breed previously used in the mountais to hunt for small animals and birds. According to them, were it not for some dedicated people in the '30's they'd have been extinct. Instead they were declared a natural monument (WTF?). I don't like small dogs so I'll leave it at that.
3. Dr Bracko: sports physiologist and hockey expert. Let's just say ball skills were never, and will never, be my thing. He also lives in Calgary.

So, with all that researching, I feel no closer to the meaning of it all. I'm going with: Either someone's trying to tell me I need to go on holiday to Eastern Europe, or I have some kind of connection to the Bracko family of Calgary. Alternatively, I really need to get some lavender oil to sprinkle on my pillow to ensure uninterrupted sleep - my mind is way too active for my own good.
Or, maybe one of the Bracko son's is my destiny. Now if it turned out that way, it'd be pretty bloody freaky, wouldn't it?

Insomnia, the BFF visits, and I have a thought

It's that time of month when my boyfriend, Insomnia, creeps into my room, usually in the early hours of the morning, blows on my eyelashes to wake me, then climbs in with me and cuddles up to my back. He's sneaky in the way in which he strokes the back of my neck, lulling me into almost sleep, but then, as I nod off, he prods me, hard, jolting me back to wakefulness. And thought. I have to admit, I'm not minding too much at the moment, I'm thinking alot, and it's okay. For now.

The BFF came over for dinner last night. He has been scarce because he's got back together with his ex-girlfriend and boys are just crap at being able to sustain their friendships when they get into a relationship. I tried to explain the concept that, in fact, keeping up your other friendships when having a relationship with someone actually usually helps to sustain the relationship and keep it healthy. Channelling all your energy into one person is a sure-fire way of exhausting things before their time! I think he may even have got it.

Beside all that (deep?) stuff, it was just nice to hang out with him and talk shit and catch up. I've missed him. He is my BFF and all!

Back to my thinking. My mind often amazes even me. After 34 years, you'd think I'd have got used to it, but, nope... willy-nilly, it'll bring up a thought that surprises me! Honestly, usually it surprises me with it's inaneness and this was a good example. Maybe not inaneness, more, well, I'm not sure of the word. You'd think I'd worry about world hunger or, closer to home, my garage door that isn't working. But, no sirreee, not me!

Basically I got to thinking about what happens to all the deleted letters on computers. You know - when you type something wrong and click on the backspace... Where does the extra "K" go? And now I'm going to sound wierd, I know, but this is my space so I'm allowed to be wierd if I want to. Sometimes I try to just move the letter somewhere else, so it doesn't get relegated to wherever it is lost letters go.

Then I thought that perhaps it's a cool place - like a land of letters. Some amazing island off an unknown coast where they all hang out and move around, creating beautiful words, and then making sentences and wonderful stories, only to break up again and move in other directions and new stories like an ever-changing story wave. I liked that idea so I moved my thoughts elsewhere at that point. I also now feel less bad about my backspace and delete buttons. Phew.

I wonder if I should worry? Or, at least, try and worry about more important things.

Bugs and studs

My throat is sore. Like in really sore. I always forget how unpleasant a sore throat is. My colleague gave me my sore throat, as a very kind gift. I know it was him. He came to work yesterday snuffling and whinging like the best man-I'm-dying-of-a-head-cold specimen and, no matter how much I tried to get him and his bug-infested droplets to leave, he wouldn't. And now look.

My main wondering today though, is why sore throats are so much sorer in the dark? Lying in bed last night, snuggling with my man Insomnia, who seems to have brought his luggage this time (I'm hoping he's only planning a short visit), it was really, really sore, as opposed to really sore when I got up this morning.

Are the sore-making bugs nocturnal? The minute you turn off the bedside lamp, there they are, wearing their little soccer studs, dancing away in the back of your throat, drinking and partying. Why they must wear there soccer studs to a party, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that they don't handle their alcohol well - as the night progresses, they drag their little dancing feet more and tend to spill their drinks on said throat too. And it must be tequila, because it stings. Little bastards.

I wonder if it'd help if I kept my light on?

Flying at full moon

I ate my breakfast by candlelight this morning. Which, I suppose could be very romantic, but wasn't. 6:15am breakfast while rushing to get to work does not exactly lend itself to romanticism. Especially not when you are halfway through your Jungle Oats when everything just goes dark. While I'm grateful it waited until I had hot Jungle Oats, I'd have been even more pleased if it had waited until I had left home. I thought I'd been lax (again) with filling the meter but, no, the streetlights were out too. Quite an exciting start to the morning.

But my tale starts before that really. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I went out for dinner last night with my parents and two other couples - old family friends from way back when. All three men are geologists (retired). All three women are geologist's wives (and a lot more, but that's the common thread). I suddenly realised, halfway through the meal, how incredible this scene really was (and is - it happens fairly regularly). There I was, sitting with six people who, when they were around about my age now, all held me as a newborn baby, then watched me grow up.

And this all happened in a small, dusty town over 1000kms away. They now all live within walking distance of each other (again, after moving apart and together at various times, throughout the past 30 years - mining people move. A lot). You see? Incredible. My mother makes friends. And keeps them. I'm lucky to have had her as a role model in this regard - she has passed the gene on.

After a lovely meal with these familiar people, I went off home, planning an early night, due to some rather large piles of Real Work, and Other Work, threatening to take over my desk completely and drown me (a rather unpleasant thought). All went smoothly and I nodded off...

Into the most fantastic dreams in which I flew. Well, more aptly, I seemed to float. I was so bouyant that I had to wedge myself between a lamp post and a tree to stay at a level where I could have a conversation with a girl I was at school with (who I have not seen, nor heard from in about 15 years). Then I flew off with my friend K (the one in Australia) on the lid of a roasting pan. Off above the street we lived in in Grahamstown, until, for some reason I can't remember, I needed to tear off a bum-sized piece of tinfoil from a roll that two other friends from university were using to create some set for a play. Then that became my my magic flying carpet.

They were very jealous of my flying skills and had been trying for ages to get it right for their play, but to no avail. I expressed great sympathy as I flitted away to drop off the dog we shared with K's brother at varsity, who didn't like flying (he was a puppy in the dream, although when we inherited him, he was fully grown), before flying off elsewhere. And then the full moon woke me.

And I lay for two and a half hours, trying desperately to get back in there and fly some more. But my full moon boyfriend, Insomnia, had other plans for me, and we lay awake chatting for hours, discussing my flight etc. while he breathed against the back of my neck. He's a real spooner that one.

And now... I'm attempting to scale the mountains of work, but am a little weary from my busy night.

I wonder if I need to see a dream analyst or if it just means I'd love to fly on the lid of a roasting pan?

Sleeplessness no good

I am not good on too little sleep. This has always been so. I am a 6 to 8 hour a night kind of girl, if not more. Without that I lose my sense of humour and become growly and grumpy. It's just how it is.

Two things affect my sleeping (okay, LOTS of things affect my sleeping, but two main ones that are there like clockwork) - the full moon and my period (overshare?). They keep me awake. Wide awake. One happy thing I can report in this post, though, is that my body has been oh-so-clever and organised that the two coincide. Whether this leaves me doubly insomniac at full moon, I'm still assessing. I'll let you know. So, yes, it's full moon. So I'm growly and grumpy. No happy Pollyanna stories today I'm afraid.

And there are other influences keeping me awake at night. Nightly goings-on that are frustratingly necessary but into which I don't wish to delve too deeply. It makes me anxious, it makes me guilty, it sounds exciting, but it's not. It's a day-to-day living thing that I cannot change. And I wish I could.

Although, on a (literally) brighter side. My insomniacal hours were spent swimming in a shower of that beautiful pale silvery light that the moon gives off (I have light curtains) and the cool night air floating through my windows was a welcome relief from the suffocating heat that we've been having. I can see a little bite of the mountain through my bedroom window and it too was bathed in moonlight, making me feel like I was privvy to all sorts of wonderful fairy parties going on on the mountainside.

I've just finished reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles. I struggled a bit with it. His writing is beautiful, and poetic, but I didn't find it an easy read. There was one scene, though, that I loved, and was so apt to my night awakenings last night. A beautiful scene where the young May Kasahara wakes in the night and strips off to basically 'wash' every part of her body in moonlight. You need to read that bit, I'm not prosaic like him.

I wonder if I'm cleansed by it too, or just overtired?