HALF-ASLEEP OR HALF-AWAKE

I did not sleep well last night. I mean, I was in a tangle of discomfort - all sheets and sweat - from about 2:30am, and just feeling on the wrong side of half-asleep.

I think being half-asleep is probably the worst of all the states. Fully awake? That’s okay - even in the middle of the night. Fully asleep? That’s the best of all (unless you’re a bus driver or a pilot) - you get to escape into multicoloured worlds of wonder where you can be whatever you imagine, and your memories swirl like a kaleidoscope. But between the two? Yuk.

Eyes closed, sticky eyelids. Brain purring like a burglar going through the filing cabinet of things you don’t want to think about. Uncomfortable on the side, aching on the back, considering lying face down on the pillow and then remembering that you’re not a weirdo. And all the time you can’t help wishing you could nudge either way into sleep, or wake - but you know if you choose wakefulness, you’ll be up for hours.

In the end, I got up for the loo. The dark, mysterious toilet across the landing. I could write a whole series of blogs on it, but rest assured and thankful - I’m not going to. Before too long I was shuffling back towards a bedside gulp of cold water and I slid back into the sheets.

I blinked at the ceiling. The lampshade looked like an eye - bulb for a pupil, hanging in the centre of the shade. Funny. Never noticed that before. Like the eye of Horus, watching from above. Best not to think about that.

I wonder if half-asleep is the same thing as half-awake. I suppose it’s different when you’re drifting off and everything goes muffled. That’s a nice kind of half-asleep, and it’s followed by actual full, lovely sleep. But half-awake is the other way around. You’re drowsy and grumpy and wondering whether reality is reality. I think they are different.

I reached for my phone. Sammy stirred. I hid the bright light under the duvet. There was nothing interesting going on - just an article about England winning at the football, and an opinion piece about Joe Biden. Must be tough being so old but still being so certain you can do the thing everyone’s telling you you can’t do. It’s a bit like taking the car keys away from an ageing parent. Mind you, you wouldn’t then give the keys to your mad uncle, I suppose, and only have hopes that he won’t then go careening across town like he’s in Grand Theft Auto.

Bit of satire there. That’s not like me. I’m trying to work today but to be honest, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.