Right

I am going to tackle sleep. I have been having a little problem with sleep lately. Usually I can go to sleep without any problems but what happens next is alarming. Every morning I have been waking up sobbing and shaking. Nightmares. All of them about Artboy.

Last night I couldn't sleep.

Tonight sleep is my bitch and I will calmly and wonderfully fall through the layers of consciousness to wake refreshed and attractive in a ruffled sort of way. This is my plan. I'm going to need pillows, doona, bed, cat, heater and a handy dandy lobotomy. Wish me luck.

Comments

Shelley said…
A sharpened voting pencil could be just the instrument you need for a, um, handy dandy lobotomy. But ouch.

No sleeping pills?
DS said…
Don't you need a prescription for sleeping pills? I have a habit of telling doctors that everything is fine, just popped in to say hello, in fact feel better than ever, oh my leg that is hanging on by a thread, no troubles at all, not a thing to worry about, I'll just buy a bandaid at the chemist.
Anonymous said…
If you have no plans we could fix that sleep problem with some wine and good company on Friday night? I can cook vegan friendly?
TimT said…
Sleep is my bitch... frontal lobotomies...

That's one HELL of a way to update Keats!

O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd casket of my soul.
DS said…
Fuck me I love Keats.
Shelley said…
If one had someone that needed wooing with poetry one would need a pocket Tim to take on date-like excursions. I guess then that it's fortunate that one does not :(

The trick with doctors is to find an old male one and cry and cry and cry about your sleeplessness until they give you stilnox - then swallow half the packet.
DS said…
Hey Rita check your email.
DS said…
Why not simply be wooed by Tim himself? Seems a simple solution.

Ah, but I can't cry at the doctors. I can only cry in my house and sometimes only in the shower. This is a sorry affliction.
Shelley said…
Pull nosehairs.

I don't think Tim woos.
TimT said…
I remembered it because I've been listening to Benjamin Britten's 'Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings' a lot lately. It also has a kick-arse version of Blake's 'Rose, thou art sick' and a medieavel dirge.

I don't know about wooing, but I tried billing and cooing with the ticketing machine the other day. But it ended up billing and I ended up paying, which wasn't exactly woo-some, more woe-some.
DS said…
Try with a vending machine.