Having an overactive mind that’s prone to bad choices has proven to do me rather well creatively, mainly because all of the daft stuff that it’s led me to do which has given me plenty of things to write about. Other than that, all it’s really done is cause me a lot of grief.
Just last night, I had to exercise the lacking amount of self control I have to stop myself doing something that I’m guessing most people probably wouldn’t even have thought of. My sleeping pattern has been a mess in recent weeks (it has never been good), so yesterday I decided to take action. I convinced my Dad to come to the pub with me, knowing that we’d get reasonably drunk, and be home and tucked up in bed by 22:00. In my head, alcohol is a fail-safe idea that was sure to get my sleeping pattern back on track – as I had predicted, I was in for 21:00, wrapped up all warm and snug in a duvet cocoon, excited and content to finally get a decent night’s sleep.
As the months roll into winter the UK is living in perpetual darkness, making it near impossible to determine the time without a watch or a phone. Neither of which I currently have as I lost them at the weekend when a few drinks turned into: watching a drag show, my cousin getting spiked, her boyfriend throwing up in the back of the taxi home, and me wetting the bed.
So I’m under the false impression that it’s nearing dawn, chuffed with myself I begin my morning routine (although admittedly it usually takes place late afternoon) of rolling a cigarette and smoking it with content as I watch my hand shake uncontrollably – something I should probably check with the doctor, but I know that I won’t. I turn to check the kitchen clock and I see it’s only midnight and my slumber had been more like a three-hour nap. I’m fuming.
After another three or four hours of getting increasingly more irritated at myself whilst I toss and turn in bed as alert and awake as I have ever been, I put my energy into conjuring ideas on how best to knock myself out. I play with the idea of drinking more booze, but there’s a shortage of alcohol in the house and one tinny of Carling isn’t going to do much other than raise concern amongst my parents as to why I’m drinking alone in the middle of the night in the pitch black and utter silence.
Then I consider taking one of my Mum’s heavy painkillers – she has severe chronic back pain and severed nerves, and her pills seem to knock her out for a few hours. As the hours roll on, this becomes more and more of an appealing solution… but then logic comes into play and I realise:
She keeps her medication in her bedside table and she’s an incredibly light sleeper
She will almost certainly notice that one of her tablets has gone missing and as my Dad has pharmacophobia (meaning a phobia of medication, a term which I just googled) she’ll know it was me
I have a rather addictive personality and I’d most likely make a habit out of it and become a subscription drug addict, without the subscription
I looked up across my room to see the inflatable Jesus which I had drunkenly kidnapped from my supervisor’s house after she had a house party in the summer a few months back but never returned, despite promising I would. To others this could have been interpreted as a sign, but I’m not religious and I don’t care for God but it did convince me not to steal my Mum’s medication and run the risk of subsequently becoming an addict. So instead I went for another cigarette and a glass of milk, and opted to watch “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia“, a show which I have been binge-watching for several months now, which as a result know almost every one of it’s 124 episodes’ word for word. A fact that I’m both proud and ashamed of. I then began to toy with the idea of huffing glue and eating cat food like Charlie and Frank do in the show.
Then I remembered I’m vegetarian. I don’t know what glues are huff-able and it also seemed kind of gross.
After playing with my cat in my Mum’s room whilst she gets ready for work, creating a new family on Sims 3 and using the ‘motherlode’ cheat repeatedly to make them millionaires (making myself feel more accomplished in the process), and after my laptop finally crashed, I decided to start work on the play I’m currently developing. I figured that if I’m going to be a night owl, I might as well use the time productively rather than lying in bed and twiddling my thumbs all night thinking of ridiculous plans’ and scenarios. I finally crash at around mid-day whilst watching Home Alone, getting a few hours’ kip in before being woken up by a delivery man who’s come to drop off my insurance phone.
In just one insignificant night I learned two valuable lessons: firstly, that it’s probably never a good idea to steal your mum’s incredibly strong painkillers, and secondly that being productive is a lot more gratifying than using cheats to make your Sims rich.