Revenge of the Insomnioid

You hear people talk about ‘suffering’ from insomnia like it’s some kind of tropical disease. ‘You know our Shaun?’ they’ll ask when they meet each other in the street or go for a conspiratorial coffee, ‘He suffers from terrible insomnia’. Then they’ll sadly shake their heads at each other as if insomnia’s some kind of virulent flesh-eating disease or at the very least a strange sort of gaseous internal combustion. I half expect them to go on and explain how ‘our Shaun’ caught this awful affliction while paddling down the Orinoco or perhaps via some ill-advised dalliance in Thailand.

For a writer there are far worse disorders to fall prey to than lack of sleep. And I should know for I, dear reader, am that insomniac. Actually I prefer to call myself an Insomnioid. Note the capital letter for dramatic emphasis. It sounds so much more intense, like I’m the main creature in a dreadful late-seventies David Cronenberg movie. ‘Beware the Insomnioid!’

You might think of me as a sufferer but I don’t think of insomnia as sufferance at all. I see it more as an opportunity. My body obviously doesn’t need that much rest – it’s not as if I’m wearing it out with my sedentary lifestyle – so I may as well make the most of the extra time that my sleeplessness allows me at night-time. I’m getting used to waking in the wee small hours now. Me and Lady Moon are BFFs, don’t you know. And it’s not like having only three or four hours sleep is playing havoc with my work. Far from it. I don’t need physical strength to dig drains or alertness to operate heavy machinery. I’m a writer. I need ideas, and it takes more than a little tiredness won’t stop them. They zoom around inside my head and, in glorious isolation in my upper room, I form them into sentences on a page or a screen for the education or entertainment of people like you. This involves hours of lonely toil with as few interruptions as possible. When the words are flowing and I’m on a roll I can be completely focussed on the job, almost in a hypnotic state for hours, my pen flowing across the notebook or fingers dancing on the keyboard almost without any prompting from my brain. So what better time to do this than when the rest of the world – and the rest of my house in particular – is fast asleep?

I have to admit though that after several nights of little rest it does start to catch up on me. The last few nights have been particularly interesting. On each occasion I’ve gone to sleep shortly after eleven as is usual for me (I have no problem dropping off at all) but have been wide awake at around three or so. Sometimes I’ll try to roll over and at least lay resting in the dark for a while but most times I’ll know that sleep has deserted me for the night so I might as well get up and do something useful. And, if the words are there buzzing about waiting to be captured, that involves writing. If I get tired later I can always have a lunchtime nap but if I ignore the thoughts flying around my head then they may disappear forever.

Take last night for example. When I first looked at the clock the little red numbers said 2:30. That was a bit early to start work even for me. I tried to go back to sleep but the sheep kept moving around, making them difficult to count, so the irritation of that failed ovine numeration exercise removed any possibility of snoozing. And anyhow I had way too many thoughts, all rushing through my brain and crying out to be recorded. So I got out of bed, got myself a hot drink and began to write them down before the drifted away.

But now it’s mid afternoon and I think that I might

© Shaun Finnie 2012