Tag Archives: sleep

Sleepy Smiles

Today’s post contains a joke.

I’ll bet many people have made the same one in similar circumstances, but I’ve never heard it before, and there is a reason why I’m telling it now.

I made it up in my sleep.

Mrs Tin’s cousin is getting married soon. It will be what could be called a small wedding, in that there will be only her and her husband there. They are getting married in Las Vegas.

I found this out yesterday, and last night, amidst all sorts of dreams about all sorts of things, I dreamt that I told Mrs Tin “of course, they’re not really married, because what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

If you happen to think that this is the funniest thing I’ve ever written, please do not tell me.

I’d hate to think that I’m at my best when I’m unconscious.

Weekend Break

Sorry, I took the weekend off.

My friend GoldenEyes, the other half of my department, has been out sick for ten days now with neck and shoulder problems and I have been doing both of our jobs. I’m not complaining, she had to do the same during the many times when I was having blackout tests/getting a pacemaker/going mental, but I’ve been in early every morning and coming home late each night and I didn’t realise just how tired I was until yesterday morning when I woke up at 10.30 and then this morning when I woke at 11.53, thus only just qualifying for it being this morning at all.

I then slept the entire way through Stoke v Spurs on the TV, a match which, according to the hysterically excited commentary which occasionally seeped into my brain, seems to have been one of the great football matches of the season.

I’ve managed to do posts all week since they are written on the bus journeys to and from work but yesterday and today I was just too tired to turn on my computer and write something, and the fact that I have turned on my computer and written this does not invalidate this excuse in any way.

I haven’t spent the entire weekend asleep, I was at Tingirl’s end-of-term Drama School showcase and was enthralled yet again at the talent of her and the rest of her troupe, who are by now not just a class but a closely-knit group of friends working and socialising together.

I haven’t done Sidey’s Weekend Theme yet, though I do (finally) have an idea for it and it will be done on the bus trips tomorrow, and the Weekly Photo Challenge (Celebration) will appear on Tuesday, for reasons that will become evident on Tuesday.

Well, that’s all, I just wanted to say hi.

It’s seven minutes to eight, and time I went to bed.

Losing Time

I am on the bus, trying to type on a netbook that is rising and falling gently in time with my panting, and it’s bloody dark.

My mind and body refused resolutely to go to sleep at eleven last night, obstinately and admittedly correctly pointing out that this was not the hour at which they usually went to sleep. They pointed to something called circadian rhythms, I pointed to the clock radio. They pointed to the fact that the clock radio is old enough to have Roman numerals, I pointed to something called Daylight Saving Time, and that we would be getting up earlier too. They asked was I mad, then apologised for bringing that up.

They were sent to bed at eleven anyway, since I am notionally in charge (kind of like with the Tinkids), but took their revenge by remaining awake, not just until twelve, but until well after that. They then gleefully nudged me awake every ten minutes or so throughout the night, saying “don’t you have to get up earlier?”

And I did get up on time, in fact at 6.24, a minute before the alarm should have gone off. I stumbled out to the bathroom and, for the first time in a couple of weeks, had to turn on the light. My mind and body were not impressed (“Daylight Saving Time my arse”, I heard part of me mutter, quite possibly my arse).

I tried to be quick. I suspected that the bus might be early, since I figured many of the usual passengers from earlier stops might not have the same control over their mind and body as I have (I had to fight my fingers to type that sentence), so I resolved to leave the house on time. But things like putting on my trousers or recognising which of the 22 toothbrushes in the bathroom was mine (there are only 5 of us, who owns the others?) seemed much harder this morning, so I left the house a couple of minutes later than usual, the bus was indeed slightly early and I caught only it only by racing to the stop and banging on the door just as it was about to drive off.

This was them

The panting has pretty much stopped now, but I suspect my body is not speaking to me (my mind hasn’t really spoken to me since the derealisation started) and I feel like all of the Numskulls (none of you probably remember them, from the Beano) have gone on a work to rule.

The saying may well be “Spring Forward”, but I have definitely fallen back.

Sleepy Head

Because I get into work first most mornings, people think that I’m a morning person.

I most certainly am not. During my teens, twenties and even thirties I stayed up late, never ever going to bed before midnight whether I’d work next day or not. I was not just a night owl, I went to bed to the sound of night owls waking after six hours sound sleep.

And since I am at heart a night owl I cannot also be a morning person, since someone who is both is so ridiculously alive that normal people should be allowed stone him in the street. I think I get up so early precisely because I’m not a morning person, because I’m afraid, not just of sleeping it out, but of sleeping it in, out, in, out and sleeping it all about. Because I have this inner fear of waking late one Tuesday morning to find that it’s actually Thursday afternoon, my mind forces me awake, most mornings just before my alarm has gone off.

A non-morning person in the morning is like a non-drinker faced with a yard-of-ale, or a non-intellectual faced with Ulysses, a confused and tortured soul. He wanders into his bathroom, switches on the light without remembering to shut his eyes first, and is jolted by the sound of his pupils hitting the back of his skull. He can’t remember whether the toilet handle goes down or up, can’t remember whether the toilet seat goes down or up (ok, he leaves it up, but that’s just instinct). He can’t remember which way to turn the the shower control to make the water hot (and, though there are only two possible directions, it’s astonishing how often he will choose wrong). He stares at his toothbrush as if it’s a Swiss Army knife, baffled by the fact that it has two ends and having to guess wildly at which end to apply the toothpaste. That’s if he can figure out which of the tubes and jars actually contain toothpaste (important Tinfact: even if you live completely alone, there will always be at least eight jars in your bathroom that you have no recollection of buying, nor any idea what they’re for). It’s important that he gets this right, as a man who cleans his teeth with Sudocream will find that the taste lingers, possibly until the end of time.

He has learned by long experience to wear t-shirts rather pyjama-tops to bed because at that time of the morning he has as much chance of getting a button open as he has of twisting off one of his nipples while wearing boxing gloves.

He will also have learned to leave out his clothes at the end of his bed the night before as he cannot turn on the bedroom light, since his wife is also not a morning person. Trust me on this.

Thus when he leaps springs falls face first out of bed all he has to do it grab the pile of clothes, pick two shoes off the floor and carry them all into the bathroom. How hard can it be?

Well, as this picture from this morning will tell you, harder than you’d think.

Sleeping Through

One of the phrases beloved of new parents is the phrase “sleeping through”.

I well remember it, even though it seems like a million years ago. It and two other phrases cropped up in every conversation, with everybody, since our new-born child was the only thing we were interested in conversing about. The other two were “settle” (“how long does it take him to settle?”) and “lift him” (“we only have to lift him about twice during the night”).

“Sleepingthrough” was a magical and at times it seemed mythical state, like Neverland or Narnia, or Level 4 on our Company Career Path (sorry, quick bitch about work there). Whenever Tinson1 arrived at the state of Sleepingthrough there would be joy, bliss and celebration within the Tinhouse, as we would at last be able sleep all night ourselves, and wouldn’t fall asleep leaning against bus shelters (I actually did this, and woke up to find my bus had gone).

(I have just re-read the previous paragraph, and feel I must make just one comment. When Sleepingthrough occurs you do indeed get a full night’s sleep, but not on the first night. On the first night both of you lie awake terrified, wondering why he hasn’t woken. You continually creep up to his cot and lean in as near to him as possible, trying to ensure that you can hear him breathe. Eventually you poke him awake just to be sure).

Anyway, sleeping through is a Good Thing when it happens to new-born babies. With 52-year old men, not so much.

I got home from work yesterday at about six. I went into the bedroom to change, lay down on the bed for a few seconds, and woke up this morning. No brilliant post, no delicious dinner (hi Mrs Tin, if you’re reading), no meaningful bonding with the Tinkids (“How are things?” “Fine.” How was your day?” “Fine.” “How was school?” “Fine.”). Just twelve hours of what was basically one step down from unconsciousness. Not only that, I actually had to be woken by my alarm this morning, which almost never happens.

I didn’t sleep flat on my back with my fists up beside my ears, and my legs forming a diamond shape with the soles of my feet resting against each other. Other than that, though, I slept like a baby.

Golden Slumbers

Since I have started to sleep a bit better, I have noticed a strange habit that I have developed (normally people will sit up and pay attention when a blogger announces they are about to reveal a strange bedroom habit, but then most bloggers aren’t my age. Remembering to leave out my surgical truss for the morning is about as strange as my bedroom habits get these days (that’s not true, by the way, I’m just trying to be funny (yeah, well, we’ve told you before, don’t try that (shit, how many close-brackets do I need now to get out of this sentence in one grammatical piece?)))), (think that’s right).

When I turn over in my sleep, I always turn to my right.

If I am lying on my left, this is of course quite simple, and indeed blindingly obvious. However, if I am lying on my right, and wish to face the other way, I will still turn to my right, dipping my right shoulder and dragging my sleepy face across the pillow and then finding some way of squeezing my left shoulder under me so I can emerge triumphantly (though too asleep to feel smug) facing in the desired direction.

This would be harmless enough if it weren’t for the fact that turning all night in the one direction causes my body to act like the key on a sardine tin, with the duvet playing the role of the lid. I end up effectively mummifying myself, tightly wrapped in a tog-cocoon, while unfortunately leaving Mrs Tin cold, in every possible meaning of that sentence.

I don’t know how to explain it. Perhaps in a previous life I was a chicken on a rotisserie. Or a pig on a spit (which would account for my dislike of apple-tart).

Anyway (oh God), what strange bedroom habits do you have?

Through the Night

Getting up at 4.30 on Wednesday has kinda messed up my week. I went to bed early on Wednesday night, but still felt knackered most of yesterday. Yesterday evening I feel asleep on the couch from 7 to 7.30 while watching the cricket (I know you’d have fallen asleep too, gentle reader, but I like cricket). Then, around nine, I felt really tired, so I went to bed and was asleep before half-past.

I slept like a log. I woke briefly a couple of times, but noticed it was still dark so I smiled & snuggled straight back asleep. Eventually I had a really long dream about the kids having a bath on the night before re-starting school (brief interlude here – part of the dream involved a handsome black man walking beside me and chatting me up, in a non-threatening & quite funny way, as I walked home along a street of big Victorian houses that I so don’t live on, and when I got home to observe said bath I found that my house had one of those big communal baths that football clubs used to have, and the bath contained not just the Tinkids (all much younger), but also Mrs Tin – well, Sarah from the Sarah Connor Chronicles, actually – a girl friend (not girlfriend) from about 20 years ago who was now making a guest appearance in the second of my dreams this week, a guy I used to play soccer with, and my mother, though when they let the water out of the bath she had mysteriously vanished). Anyway, as usual a really long dream is a sign to me that my night’s sleep is over, so I woke feeling really Alert, Bright and Refreshed.

It was two minutes to midnight.

So, since I was really A, B and Re-f , I lay there until half-past two. I wrote part of this post in my head, and also part of another one. I worked out a possibly-better way of doing a really crap job that I’ve been working on in the office for the last two days, and I’m looking forward now to seeing if it works.

And, at half-past two I fell asleep again (dream this time involved being electrocuted, and having my pacemaker on fire inside my chest, while I kept telling GoldenEyes and the rest of the office that I’d be fine once the ambulance man arraived and made a small hole and then flicked it out with a penknife) and was deep, deep asleep when the alarm-clock klaxoned me violently awake.

Now I feel tireder than ever.

Bound for Morningtown, Many Miles Away

I’ve taken tomorrow off, to turn the Long Weekend into a Long Long Weekend.

The great thing about it, callous though it sounds, is that none of the rest of my family have the day off. Tin children trudging dejectedly off to school, Mrs Tin plodding off her her part-time job.

My plan is to go to bed at the usual time this evening, and see what time I wake tomorrow.

I’ll be very disappointed in it’s any time in the morning.