A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times

It has come to my attention that quite a few of you often worry about the fact I don’t appear to be getting much sleep as I wander in and out of the mighty internet at all times of the day and night often including the wee-small-hour realms of stupid o’clock. Why is it that I do this? I ask myself, knowing full well why it is. And after being prompted by a close personal as to how funny I must look slumped at my desk I offer you this in response.

You see as is often the case when you see someone cosily tucked away in their bed fast asleep, you will no doubt see them in a rather warm and tranquil state, a relaxed state of completely well deserved rest and being at peace with the whole world, no doubt comfily nestled with happy and contented faces. This brings to mind that beautiful line, "Let's go look at the kids" as quoted from the film ‘The World According to Garp’ with Robin Williams. However, that is not the case with me I fear. For when I finally do sleep I tend to just slump rather helplessly into a coma no matter where I am and more often than not these days, it is usually while sat at my desk as my eyes finally lose focus on that pesky red notification tab in the top right hand corner of our beloved Google+.

I am not I regret to say, in any way shape or form, a discrete and fetching sleeper of any kind, far far from it in fact.

Most other people when they nod off look as if they could do with an extra blanket to completely snuggle into; I on the other hand, tend to look like I could do with some form of urgent medical attention. When I do eventually sleep, I sleep as if my whole body is infected with a powerful form of muscle relaxant. My legs fall wide open in a grotesque come hither manner and my knuckles usually brush the floor like the hands of a Neanderthal as my neck contorts, stretching in all forms of weird shapes and direction, allowing my head some minimal form of purchase to rest upon as I incline into the depths of my not so comfortable office chair.

Most other people seem to purr in their sleep, but that’s not me either. Whatever is inside me – my tongue, uvula, moist bubbles of intestinal air or even my last meal – compounds matters in deciding that now would be a good time to leak out of my widely gaping mouth and from time to time, like with one of those nodding duck toys, my head tips forward to empty a gallon or so of viscous drool down my chest and onto my lap, then falls back again to begin reloading with an accompanying noise like that of a toilet cistern being discharged. Thank God my bowels and bladder don’t seek to join in I fret, even though the odd thunderous fart can sometimes be heard to add to the cacophony. And while talking of noise, I snore too. Boy do I snore. I snore hugely and helplessly, like a deliberately drawn cartoon character, complete with rubbery flapping lips and prolonged steam valve exaltations.

And while others gently roll over into deeper realms of comfort, for lengthy periods I tend to grow unnaturally still, in a way that invites onlookers to exchange glances between each other and lean forward in concern, then, rather dramatically, I stiffen right up and after a tantalisingly long enough pause, begin to bounce and jostle in a series of what looks to be carefully orchestrated whole-body spasms that would bring to mind an electric chair when the switch is being thrown. With my arms and legs now twitching off in all directions, doctors and nurses could merrily gather round to learn first-hand what a grand mal epileptic seizure could possibly look like.

And then, as if all the above is not already enough of a burden to bear, I shriek out once or twice too in a rather spookily effeminate manner to the crowds all seen running for cover and while not knowing how long I have actually slept for, minutes usually, when I eventually come to, I will find that all motion within a radius of 500 feet has stopped and children under the age of eight will be seen clutching at their mother’s knees in sheer terror as I now fight with the crick in my neck for some form of normal composure while looking down at what can best be described as the product of a wild cat the size of a tiger having regurgitated its fur-ball contents all over me.

It’s a terrible cross for anyone to bear I’m sure you’ll agree. Least of all the likes of a chap like me. And while I have often been seen to be berating the absolute perils of insomnia here on this very blog, I’m sure you’ll all now agree; it (insomnia) still has to be far more favourable than the prospect of this particular fellow in slumber.

So there you have it, my terrible secret is now out. And knowing now, what you didn’t know previously, all that remains is for me to do is to ask, would anyone like to buy my redundant bed?

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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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