Friday February 11, 2005
I’m clambering slowly from the pit of sloth. No, that sounds overly critical, and there’s no real need to rebuke myself over a short period of healthy hibernation. Sometimes a chap needs to sleep. It’s doing me good, or at least it feels as if it’s doing me good.
I remember, years and years ago when I was running two jobs and labouring hard at the same time to keep ahead of a course of study, I became so eternally tired that the sky began to turn grey, and the shadows to writhe with phantom creatures… And, by accident, I tuned in to a radio broadcast describing ‘sleep therapy’, in particular registering mention of a treatment that involved putting the patient into a deep, drugged sleep, sometimes for several weeks. This appealed to me.
Not the treatment itself, of course, but the thought of a ward, curtains drawn, filled with long-term sleepers, heavy with lethe-juice…
Shortly after that the study course ended, with examinations, I quit the second job, and spent a whole weekend sleeping. The sky brightened, the shadows cleared, and life returned to normal.
It was an experience. You can afford to abuse mind and body like that when you’re young, without any great or lasting harm. Just so long as you’ve the good sense to know when to stop.
This time, I’ve not been sleeping from weariness. I’ve been sleeping because I can. I’ve been waking, turning over, looking at the clock, and finding no great reason to get up and be about my business.
Sometimes, business can wait. Tomorrow I do have to get out and do stuff but, today, business can wait.