I love sleep. Adore it. That beautiful floaty feeling that overtakes you when you’re all snuggled up under the covers and start to drift off… there’s nothing like it.
But that feeling of being dragged from the deepest realms of slumber by a crying baby and knowing you’ve got to clamber out of the warmth and stumble across a cold corridor… that’s not so good.
Unfortunately for me, at the moment there’s rather a lot of the second feeling going on and it’s making me get a bit obsessed with the idea of a full night’s sleep. Oh, the things I could achieve if I could get a solid eight hours! I could build a boat, design a rocket, tame a lion: the world would be my oyster! And I could probably think up something award-winningly inventive to do with that oyster too.
Well, maybe not. But at least my brain would be less squelchy and my legs would be less sludgy.
On the upside though, I have been using these endless wakeful hours to write. Not on paper (too dark, danger of accidentally stabbing baby with pen etc.) but in my head. I’ve written bits of stories and alternative versions of songs and – given my obsession – it probably comes as no surprise to learn that I have written about sleep. In the deepest depths of last night my brain falteringly put together a haiku:
Soft blankets embrace
Warmth envelops leaden limbs
Slip slowly to sleep.
Ah, sleep. Love it.