Yesterday was having the whole problem of verticality (slumped flat in bed, whimpering, head doing that black streetlight going by thing) so Damian told me to phone in sick (my hero!). I did, and crawled back into bed, to be greeted enthusuastically by unconsciousness so instant and intense it was more like being hit over the head than going to sleep. Almost instantly (as far as I could tell) I woke up, still fuzzy headed, and wandered over to the window wondering why it was so dark. Had I slept through the whole day already? I didn't care, I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed and went straight back to sleep. Almost instantly, I woke up again. This time, it was light, still morning, but the door at the foot of my bed was open, so I hauled myself (still exhausted) up, checked the corridoor and shut the door, fell back into sleep. Only to wake up, almost immediately ... at around this point I figured out what was going on, did a quick wiggle to check I wasn't sleepwalking, and settled back to enjoy the show. I was locked into a spawning dream, probably intended to let me know that I should not, under any circumstances, try to wake up again for a while. It was intensely real and vivid, though as the dreams became increasingly outlandish they were more obviously not real; oh yes, my staircase is stretching out to infinity is it? ... pull the other one, though, wow, isn't it amazing how much the walls feel like walls and the carpet feels like carpet? At around about the time I woke up to see a huge blue glowing computer with pulsating wires crouched at the foot of my bed and shoved my hand into the mass of writhing wires to see what would happen, my subconscious gave up the ghost and let me drop into a more normal sleep. Disappointing, I'd been hoping for a very Cronenberg moment in full sensurround.
Later, I dragged myself out of sleep. I was in the back of a trailer, and there was a siren going off. I'd forgotten who and where I was, and it was only after I'd reconstructed my bed, my house and my identity that I realised my mobile phone was ringing. I'd missed it, of course, but Damian called again, later. He told me to have some lunch. I prevaricated, and eventually had two swallows of half-and-halfed lucozade and water. And went back to sleep, with only slightly more difficulty than earlier.
I woke up (far less painfully) for the evening, in time for Tenchi (it was the large purple mobile phone monster who hates long distance love affairs episode), and spent a lazy night trying (unsuccessfully) to complete my 2001 collage project. I'm just going to have to shake it to stillness and leave it, I think. It's time to toss 2001 into the bin, where it belongs. Plus, I want the table back.
But this morning I actually woke up feeling awake and actually got to work and got stuff done, lots of stuff done. I mean, I still feel a bit shitty, but not head-slowingly shitty, just a bit of ache and nausea and sniffle. Damian said to me, "Maybe that's what feeling rested is like," but what would he know? When I got back home tonight I discovered he (Damian, who borrowed Mr Wankey my computer last night) had been working with my little Britney Spears sat watching him, with her red rubber catsuit open and her tiny plastic breasts poking out. Hmmmm.
refreshed