Iris has a huge obsession with drinks. Well cups really. Beakers, glasses, tumblers, mugs. She’s not fussed. She just likes to give them all a try. Unfortunately she can now climb incredibly well, and there is no sweet safe place in our living room to put a nice fresh cup of tea. Thankfully, as it is when you’re a parent, cups of tea never seem to be hot because you’ve been distracted by a tantrum or a full nappy. I’m thankful for this today (I’m not usually) because Iris has just got hold of the lukewarm cup of tea I’ve been desperate for all morning, and poured it all over herself and a big toy dog that probably won’t fit in my washing machine. She’s not hurt, which is the main thing, but I feel like crap. It’s like the day I shut her finger in a door all over again.
I actually cried.
Although if I’m totally honest with myself, some of those tears may have been more selfish. There’s no more milk. I cannot make another cup of tea. Even if I could it’d probably go cold while I endlessly read ‘Hide and Seek Pig’ anyway, but that’s not the point.
The insomnia is getting to me now. I keep hearing that line from Fight Club in my head.
When you have insomnia, you are never really asleep, and you are never really awake.
I just don’t function well now. I keep going, but everything seems hazy and not really real. The stuff that can tip me over the edge into despair is really quite ridiculous. No milk. A full washing basket. Having to walk the dog because Trev overslept and couldn’t do it. Rain when there is washing on the line. A late bus. Lukewarm tea. Dog hair on black leggings. The way the postman throws parcels through my living room window if I don’t answer the door in 10 seconds. The cat following me around and sitting on me every time I stop moving. Losing my page in my book. A fingerprint on my glasses.
Last night, between midnight and 1am I was sobbing on the sofa. Iris and Trev fast asleep upstairs. I was so desperate to sleep that I got myself into quite a state. Trev was snoring loudly but I couldn’t wake him or move him to make him stop. I had a few fantasies about rolling him out of bed, down the stairs and out of the front door. I briefly wanted to punch him in the head.
It’s not his fault. I know for sure that even if he had shut the hell up I wouldn’t have slept. I can’t. I just can’t sleep.
I know that this’ll pass in time. My periods of insomnia always do. In the mean time please don’t annoy me. I can lose my shit over the smallest silly things right now.