Wakey wakey

The sun was pale as we made our way to SS's birthday party on an island in the Thames. He had a great turnout and was in a jolly mood. A fair number of journalists and writers were gathered there, and everyone was separated by just one degree. It's a small, incestuous world, London hackdom.

As we stood outside, watching the Thames rush by at an alarming speed, raindrops began to spatter on the tall, leafy trees above, which provided adequate shelter for a little while. Eventually, we went inside to chat and eat nibbles. Some people played pool, others drank and became progressively red-eyed while conversation flowed (regardless of alcohol intake). A large fluffy cat, the colour of fudge and chocolate (white, dark and milk), loitered, waiting for strokes and scraps.

With each passing hour, the rain increased in intensity, calling fat slugs and various island creatures out. I didn't look at the ground too closely as my feet hit the sodden pathway. It was very dark but occasional lights threw the shapes of night-time creatures into shiny silhouettes.

By the time I got home, my 'earliest time to go to bed' had been and gone, and I still faced getting up at 7am today no matter what. And I just couldn't nod off. I stuck my earplugs in but the one in my left ear was extremely painful so I had to ease it out, which meant I could hear GFG walking around downstairs and S doing his business around the flat.

Tired? God, yes. But I am cheered that this week is to be sunny. I don't know why but the rays always imbue me with a certain energy that is otherwise elusive. I am seeing reiki lady today. I hope I don't fall asleep. It is not allowed.

Eating carpet...

Not me. No. M, the rabbit, has been pulling at the corners of the carpet under the stairs (there's a spiral staircase that she sits below). Rabbits can be very naughty indeed. She is looking at me with a sad, brown eye (I can only see the one eye), knowing she has done wrong.

I have been up since 7am as I embark on the final stage of the sleep programme that has regimented my bed and wake times for the past three months. Oh, and there's the caffeine deprivation, the chocolate deprivation and the alcohol deprivation too, just in case the sleep deprivation alone seemed a bit namby-pamby.

Anyway, my early waking – and getting up – I feel, is a remarkable achievement seeing as, a) I spent yesterday doing a fair bit (and hadn't slept the previous night), b) didn't sleep well last night and c) I have a friend's birthday party to go to later, and will need to feel energetic.

The sun helps me. Today's forecast, as I sit here with the sunshine pouring through the window, looks rather promising.

A good day

I didn't sleep very well as I said goodbye to being 37. However, as sleep therapist P had let me have a lie-in till nine ("everyone deserves a treat"), I didn't feel as bad as I would have otherwise.

My birthday cards have a stylish theme, as though they were chosen to sit together. They are beautiful, some I'd like to frame, but won't, as I never get round to doing such things.

S took the day off to spend it with me. He treated me to a massage (the woman was very good and I left feeling relaxed, not scratchy); then we had lunch where the food, served by Frenchmen, was delicious. I had to undo the belt on my dress. The place, situated in a beautiful part of London, was full of actors and people who lunch for a living.

I'm pleasantly tired – glad it is Friday – looking forward to seeing my parents later. It's been a mellow day, just what I need. I didn't sleep much last night... I cried a lot. An awful lot. I think it was the adrenaline of waiting for the sleep appointment, the catharsis of the actual appointment, and then feeling utterly depleted during kung fu (I was ridiculously badly coordinated). I cried as soon as the class ended (in the loo). And when when I got home, where it was quiet and empty, M, my rabbit, bounded over and followed me around, as she always does if I'm upset. That made me cry even more.

Anyway, 38 looks good so far. I am tentative, as I am in the middle of so many cloudy things. But on the whole, like today's weather, it's sunny.

Method in the madness

I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders... the sleep doctor guru and the sleep therapist were excellent and I feel a bit guilty for questioning their motives, as I've done in the past weeks.

Anyway, the reduction process is to begin tonight – I shall have less benzo than before – and I need to keep up the strict regime set in place by therapist, P, so that when I am drug-free, my body just goes, "There's the bed, this is a pillow: sleep."

This may not sound like a big deal but it is. I was prepared for a battle to persuade them to take me off the tablets etc but it was all on the agenda anyway. It'll be tricky keeping up the sleep programme for another couple of months or so but it's crucial and I'm on the home stretch so I'll do it. Ha.

I got some early birthday cards today – they are very pretty and made me smile.

Countdown

Well, it feels as though I have been away for months! This just shows how much of an utter blogger I really am. I missed it. How dare work get in the way, the cheeky blighter.

OK, so it's only been two days. But still.

Thing is, life is rather odd at the moment. The tablets that are meant to help me sleep are a mild form of LSD, and the side-effects are increasingly horrendous. I'm seeing the doctor very soon, so I shall tell him I've had it with the medication (but I shan't admit that I have cut down, albeit only by a tiny amount... but why wait?). I'm not having any alternatives, either.

My head hurts a lot of the time and I feel as though a blood vessel is throbbing inside it. Also, the latest joy is that I am a bit breathless, and breathing in hurts. I lose my train of thought, feel confused, retch uncontrollably (usually in private, thank God), am often spaced out... Oh, and there's all the emotional fuckage as well. No thanks!

Pants and fudge

Well, not quite fudge and pants, as such. But I'm trying not to swear. I do, however, love fudge and wear pants.

Anyway...

Just to say I have done the day job, commuted home in a horribly packed and damp train, filled with sodden people, walked home in the rain (actually, I quite like rain), have sorted out the rabbits and must now do more work, so cannot blog properly.

I want to watch Corrie, so I'll eat then. And after that, it's grindstone again.

Pants! Fudging pants. In fact, vittu!

I am a...

Well, it sounds OK. If I have to be something, then it will do.

I don't agree with the trust thing, though [hold your cursor over each colour inside the box to get an 'analysis']. It takes me a while to trust people, which, I find, is a sensible way to be.

On those very rare occasions when I click with someone instantly, I want to tell them everything.

And, seeing as I love daydreaming as much as I do, I am fairly imaginative. So, it ain't foolproof, this test. Fun, though (if lengthy).

It's a sin?

The man on the bus stood proudly, his pork-pie hat set neatly on his head, his umbrella furled perfectly, his eyes staring straight ahead, as a look of contentment crept over his face.

In his hand was a magazine, open at the page: "Are you a sinner in the eyes of the Lord?" He held it in the hand that he was also using to grip on to a pole, so that everyone looking his way could see it, held high. It seemed deliberate.

Have I sinned? Well, yes, in all probability. Who hasn't? But I suppose it depends on your definition of sin. It's all subjective (although I do know of one person who has committed an undeniable sin against me). If you look to religion to define sin, you find factions that can't even agree on one interpretation of their holy book(s). They kill over minutiae, convinced that they are surely right. This is all very simplistic, I know, but how complex does it have to be? It all boils down to some people's basest need for power: I am right. You are wrong. You must suffer (but in the way I choose).

Now, the weather. The weather! How wonderful was the monsoon rain yesterday morning (in London, at any rate)? I had woken up late – 8.15am – an hour late! But time did something strange and twisty, and I managed to get washed, dressed and to work on time. However, it was dark all the way, and I was half-convinced it was 4am. The slate sky was heavy, angry and beautiful, overflowing with a sense of what it might do.

And then it did it: rain, hail, thunder, lightning. Marvellous. I had been listening to Portishead's Dummy on my red iPod on the way in. The weather matched my soundtrack.

A game of tag

I have been tagged by Anna MR. Hello Anna MR! How are you, dear linguistically-talented lady?

Here are the "Rules":
(Note from Anna MR: Please adapt or ignore as you see fit).

1. Let others know who tagged you.
2. Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
3. Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
4. Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.


1. Drinking Champagne gives me a post-facial glow the next morning (but so much better than a real facial, which can cause breakouts). It's very, very odd. But very, very satisfying. Also, no hangover. No other form of alcohol does this (not that I am drinking any at the moment)...

2. I have been looking at people in the street and wondering what they looked like when they were five years old. This is something I started to do this week. Odd behaviour, I know. But I am fascinated by people's ways and how they get from innocent baby (or are babies innocent?) to the adults we deal with daily.

3. I've discovered dark secrets about people through trying my amateur hand at things like tarot and graphology. I don't know whether it's just intuition working but something's afoot, and I rather like it.

4. I wish I'd studied different A-levels and gone to a university with spires to read English. Instead, I did sciences and maths, which are not my forte (not helped by my school going rapidly downhill in the late 80s) and studied for an honours degree in psychology (interesting subject, nonetheless).

5. I have seen ghosts. Clearly. (With a friend who saw exactly the same things on one occasion).

6. My unfinished novel attracts and repels me at the moment. I know that if I pick it up, I'll despair that I have to do work work sooner or later, which gets in the way of its flow. The not-being-able-to-carry-on is too painful. Hence, a paradox. I'm at the story's halfway point.

7. An uncle has traced my family tree back to a prince. This uncle can be a bit of a joker but he has done his homework according to my cousins, who can be his biggest (if loving) critics. Maybe there's a palace tucked away in the mountains, with my name on it... Sigh.
8. A Canadian penpal I started writing to as a 14-year-old is now one of my dearest friends and is someone I consider a kindred spirit. We have known each other for more than 20 years... We first met in person when we were around 19, got on amazingly well, had a blip of not writing in our early 20s and then picked up again, strangely having been drawn to the same jobs and similar people.

So, that's me done. I shall in turn tag:

Pony Person
The Scottish Lemon
The Struggling Writer
In Search of Adam
Misanthrope and Glory, as he was the first person, I think, to comment on my blog.
Life is beautiful, as she hasn't written anything since May.
The Inner Minx as I have lurked there.
Yumi Yumi, a random discovery.

NMJ, you got off lightly – I think someone got to you before I did!

Poison

I had around three hours of sleep last night. My eyes were as heavy as the fins of a space shuttle by 3pm. I flicked my hair forward so that my colleagues either side of me could not see my eyes and I closed them for a moment. I'm pleased I face a window or I would have been caught having a quick shut-eye.

Having looked up the tablets prescribed by the sleep doc, I am now deeply worried. These things are hard core. They explain why a) I feel sick; b) I have lost weight; c) I have strange headaches; d) I am irritable (sometimes to the point of rage); e) feel anxious, and oh, I could go on and on. Suffice to say, this period of my life is not one I want to repeat.

Tough? This makes granite feel like silk.

The most worrying thing is that to come off these tablets can be an absolute hellish bastard. I have looked up the process and it isn't exactly a piece of cake. It's scary. But I no longer want to be on the tablets. It must sound stupid to take something and not fully research it but I had faith – finally – in the doctor, and got swept along because he is who he is.

Nearly four months on, I have some level of physical dependence. It would have happened after about eight weeks. My doctor has barely seen me in all that time. And now I am a fucking drug addict. Brilliant care, that.

I went to kung fu tonight, having made the decision that my life, going forward, must be as drug-free as possible (bar alcohol, on occasion). I obviously need to sort out the reason I don't sleep well but the way of the benzodiazepine is not the way for me.

Google "benzodiazepine" and "withdrawal" and you will see why I am not thrilled. I feel as though I have poisoned myself – or let someone poison me. I'd rather stick to natural endorphins, thanks very much Dr Sleep.

Kung is the drug

My goodness, today was good. Good: that's what today has been. Goody, goody, good.

The combination of kung fu last night (have I said how much I love it? Well, I do...), the resultant druggy rush from the latter, the day's endorphinising sunshine, a reasonable amount of laughter at work, meeting my friend J (who I hadn't seen for more than a year) for a lovely lunch and being told that I look 'alive' tonight by a jovial S, are all very good things.

Should I become a kung fu/writer version of Lara Croft? Hmm. I could fight baddies and write about it... I could.

I slept like a (good) baby last night, so maybe it's worth consideration if that's what it takes. It has to be better than taking blasted drugs that keep me from my moderate intake of chocolate and Champagne, surely?

(OK, one thorn in my side is that I have been working up until 10 minutes ago – I'd forgotten a deadline... oops. Oh and my kicked breast still hurts; it twinges every now and then.)

Vittu

Vittu is a new expletive (well, as far as my vocab goes, anyway). Courtesy of Anna MR via NMJ.

Ouch, ouch, ouch!

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. And OUCH!

It happened at kung fu. The chap I partnered while we were practicing moves accidentally connected his foot to a breast, which happened to be mine.

I was holding a pad up as protection at the time but somehow the angle was wrong and it let P's foot through. He is nice, though, and I forgive him, especially as he felt terrible. But I was pleased when N, the instructor, demonstrated proper kicking on P all the way down the hall. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. (Yes, I have the post-kung fu endorphin thing going on again...)

'Intense massage' will help (and people watching where they are kicking!).

N's girlfriend, who also attends classes, later showed me a hard plate-like thing – Madonna-esque – that she wears when sparring. I want one. I want one! I will be able to get one – plus sparring gloves and stuff – when I pass my grading and am allowed to spar...

Oh, and N was telling us about a recent kung fu camp he went to where he ate brain from half the head of a lamb, which still had an eyeball in it. He said it was very tasty. He said the eyeball squelched as it was removed (for eating purposes). What can you say?

Bugatti on the NHS

On the low table that sat between rows of blue chairs were various magazines. The magazines were mainly about golf, Bugattis and living in Sussex.

This was the breast clinic, OK?

There was one copy of Grazia that hadn't been touched. I read it in five minutes. Kate Moss appeared about 15 times. Pearl Lowe (do I care? Er, no...) was in a feature about being bad and then being good, and the handbags du jour were stupidly expensive.

Anyway, they're cutting the thing out from under my armpit. A local anaesthetic, a bit of snipping and stitching, and it should be OK. It doesn't look sinister, so that's obviously brilliant, but they'll check to make sure.

S took the morning off to go with me – excellent as my stress levels have been sky high (my blood pressure, however, was remarkably low, probably due to exercise – hurrah!). But my head hurts when it is stroked.

Shaky

Reiki was interesting – a wave of relaxation pushed me into a state that was between sleep and wakefulness. I saw a few images and at one point felt as though a volcano of emotion was making its way up my body; I stopped it. Sarah sensed and saw pictures while her hands – so gentle and restful – were on me. One thing that she texted me after she had got home, has shocked me because of its relevance.

The neighbours' barbecue was good – even though I couldn't share any prosecco, beer or wine. Or chocolate. S arrived later and stayed on alone as the party continued, as I had to get back home to bed. I was unable to move when my 7am alarm went off, so I stayed in bed until 8.30am. I feel absolutely wiped out. My heart is beating a little more forcefully than normal.

Reiki, BBQ and BB

The sun's shining, which is good as Sam and Christine, the couple next door, are having a barbecue later today. They've had the meat specially delivered from a farm in Wales and, as they are very much on the right side of the breadline, the food promises to be good. Christine works in events organisation and knows how to throw a good party.

Actually, if Sam and Christine were on any kind of breadline, it would be Poilâne. I interviewed M. Poilâne once – he was a lovely man, full of Gallic charm and a saucy grin. He was short and I am tall; his eyes were often level with my décolletage.

During the interview, he offered me delicious coffee and platters of butter and tasty sourdough bread. He sadly died a few years ago while flying over water in his private helicopter. Why do wealthy people travel in helicopters?!

Prior to the barbecue, GFG's friend Sarah is coming to see me to perform Reiki for an hour or so. Now, I have no idea whether it will work, and I've only spoken to a few people who have had the treatment (all positive reports) but I am intrigued. Let's face it, two types of medication and a restrictive sleep programme haven't exactly turned my sleep world around. Next on my list are acupuncture and yet more exercise. Reiki will involve an hour of lying down, which sounds good to me.

I worked from home yesterday. Well, I say worked, but my head ached and I felt terrible, so only accomplished half a day's worth. I did some kung fu – just a little – before dinner, and my headache lifted. I think we know where this is going... (More exercise and having to work this weekend to catch up...)

My friend, SS, who did my Tarot cards earlier this week, popped over for a cup of tea and asked me to read his cards yesterday afternoon. I haven't read anyone's cards for a while but they were spot on despite the pressure in my head. He was pleased.

SS also brought over some chocolate cake (we live within 20 minutes of one another and when we are both working from home, occasionally take a slice of cake to the other in return for a quick cup of tea). Due to the blasted sleep programme, I had to watch as SS ate his cake, which looked delicious. My slice is in the fridge, luscious and forbidden.

Talking of doing things you shouldn't, I watched – and enjoyed – Big Brother last night. It was very amusing watching Charley. She is vile but entertaining, and I maintain that without her in the house, all you'd have is a programme filled with shrieking, vacuous idiots whose only conversation revolves around hair-straighteners and the Chanelle-Ziggy non-romance.

The funniest bit was when Charley went back into the house after her fake eviction and told everyone that the crowd's banners, plastered with her face and name, meant they loved her: "They really LOVE ME! Oh, my God, I'm just being honest. THEY LOVE ME SO MUCH. Oh, I LOVE you all out there!" Just how wrong can a girl be?

Lowri's 'alien' baby

NMJ raised the subject of Lowri Turner (pictured left) being somewhat dismayed at having a brown baby (after conceiving the little girl with – wait for it – an Indian man).

Shock, fucking horror! (Daily Mail)

Lowri says that the experience will teach her things. She says she is worried that her daughter doesn't look like her (no comment). She says all sorts of things that make you want to call social services.

Why should she worry so much about how her daughter will be perceived? Does she really mix with such stupid people who focus only on the melatonin levels in the baby's skin? (Apparently, yes.) Many of my friends have children where the parents are of different skin colours, and so what? The children are usually beautiful, much-loved, and erm, like any other children.

Obviously some idiots out there will name-call and point to the person's 'dual heritage' but you don't expect one of those ignoramuses to be the child's own mother!

Small pots of gold

• A stranger gave me her newspaper on the train this morning, complete with a smile. This was a nice gesture as I hadn't had time to pick one up.

• My buses came quickly. I ran for my train and caught it. Got seats on all the forms of public transport I took – no mean feat.

• My friend, J, emailed me, full of concern after reading a recent blog entry. Having someone (who isn't my next of kin) be so forceful with advice touched me and made me super-aware of three things: 1) friendship definitely shows its true colours in times of need; 2) R, who I thought was a good, solid friend, is not. Her remarks about insomnia, which I talk about infrequently, have been startlingly flippant – and she didn't invite me to her birthday drinks but told me how 'great' it was (weirdo); 3) I do need to sort myself out, pronto, and put my wellbeing above other issues (such as R: I cannot be bothered...). Or, I will not be here to deal with 'issues'. That's how serious it is.

• As I chatted to S on my mobile while standing outside the office, telling him properly how worried I am about the way I feel, a butterfly fluttered around me, back and forth, back and forth. It was stunning – orange, black, red – possibly a Red Admiral, seeking flowers in the heart of a dusty City. Words caught in my throat as I watched it soar. S and my parents have been swept up in the hurricane of my insomnia and been somewhat battered by it; they worry a lot. So, talking about it very seriously was only good. My decision to do something was resolute.

• Through my week-long headache and fog, I can now see a lighthouse. It is there, beaming at me in the distance. There is occasional fog forecast but that's par for the course with lighthouses, eh?

• I spoke to my dear dad, who recommended some herbal tablets that I'd heard about for years but never tried. I bought some and felt the underlying coldness leave my body an hour after taking them. This is promising. And I found the energy to laugh and chat to my colleagues.

• The PR woman for someone I'd been chasing for an interview called and said 'yes'.

• My boss is a lovely woman. I can talk to her about my insomnia and she listens and recommends things to help. And she told me, as we said goodnight with a kiss on the cheek (this is not what we usually do – this was spontaneous affection), that I could work from home tomorrow. Wonderful.

• As I rode home in the bus, it rained for a minute, just a minute. A cloudburst and then it stopped. Then, as I walked, I saw a glorious rainbow. I almost cried at the beauty of the evening. The roads were quiet, the rain made the pavements shine and there was a post-rain stillness in the air, as well as the curve of colours. Flowers and leaves dripped glinting raindrops on to grass and pavements. You could almost hear the Earth breathing gently as the sun's rays dazzled it.

• And, I've just had a message from Ground Floor Girl, with whom S and I had an amiable drink the other night. She has sent me the details of someone she knows who can do acupuncture, which she says has sorted out her energy levels. Excellent. GFG is an example of when good neighbours become good friends... Ahem.

A mixed bag

I'm not sure about this whole sleep programme thing. I have a constant headache. I'm sooooooooooooooooooo tired.

So tired.

I'm office-based at the moment so I try extra hard to keep my spirits up. My colleagues are very nice people and that helps but I spent the afternoon trying not to nod off. Very, very difficult.

Slightly lifted

Not sure why, but I feel a little better today despite being v*ry t*red. I laughed a lot with my witty colleagues at work, a meeting went well, and I travelled home with a friend – it was nice to chat to him.

On the doorstep was a package of gorgeous Origins stuff I'd ordered. Lovely. I shall slather myself in it shortly.

Also, the sun shone today, and this evening, we went out with GFG (who lives downstairs) to the local pub for a natter.

The only negative thing was an email chat with a friend who does that I'm broke thing and then goes on about where she has been and how much she has had to drink, and ooh, I must cut down! And then she says she can't afford to go anywhere with me. She's certainly selective with her spending.

Anyway, bugger that. I'm too old and too bored and too knackered to be bothered with such broken records. Bo-ring.

I missed kung fu tonight but shall have a session tomorrow to make up for it. It was a good day on the whole. Ha.