So … just the two of us here. Again. Like two boring old men at the Legion bar, on a week night. There’s no atmosphere, no music, nothing to do, nothing to say. We don’t want to be here, but we don’t seem to be able to break the cycle or think of anything better. We just lean against the bar and stare into space.
We’ve been doing this a lot, haven’t we? Just us and the four walls. No-one else is awake. Actually: no-one else exists. Just you and I, and that cheap clock on the mantlepiece that ticks just loudly enough to remind me that my life is slipping away.
Why must you hold on to me? Why not release me to sleep, just like everyone else? Even the cat taunts me. “Look at me! I’m lying on my back with my legs in the air, making you rub my ears because you have nothing better to do! And I can fall asleep just like zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz“. Little bastard.
My doctor hasn’t helped me get shot of you. “Take one of these before bed, but it’s easy to become dependent on them so you can only have one every third night”. They make sod-all difference. I’m pretty sure she ticked the “give him the Placebo” box when she filled out the prescription. If I’m going to pop pills that are highly addictive but do nothing for my Insomnia then I might as well start buying bags of Midget Gems. If I’m going to become dependent on substances to get me to sleep then they might as well be fun ones! Ones I can drink or smoke. Would I rather be dependent on Ziprodoxymoxybollockymolyclone … or gin? Not a tough one, really.
Why do I keep staring at that damn clock? It’s like I just want to know exactly what time I will fall asleep, so that when all my bright-eyed, keen, well-rested colleagues – those bastards – see me tomorrow and ask why I look like crap, I can say “sorry, I only had X hours sleep last night”. Because if I’m going to take anything from this, it might as well be a shred of sympathy. Before I fall asleep on the train on my way home, and wake up in Aberdeen.
Too awake to sleep. Too sleepy to write anything decent. Sorry about that.