Insomnia finally won the arse-kicking contest. This morning I got out of bed and walked heavily into the bathroom door-frame. Twice. I could see at least four door-frames before me, which wasn’t helping, also, I think I may have said something irritable. There’s a sort of lost half hour in which I seemingly did not manage to do anything at all even when I wasn’t looking, and then it was half-past seven and I was still in my pyjamas and oh God my head.
Determined not to be defeated by mere chronic lack of sleep and a head like a tumble-dryer full of bricks, I washed my hair. Alas, even clean hair was not really improving matters beneath the hair, and I had, indeed, become completely nothing but a headache. Even my knees were having a headache. There was no Reed. There was merely a head full of ache.
So I went back to bed.
Got up again after lunch, feeling only semi-screwed, with alas a mouth like a camel’s underhoof and a desperate urge for tea. Distinct improvement. But never sleep on wet hair if you can help it. I think it ate the comb.
And believe me, I know exactly how lucky I am that I can take a day off and spend it in splendid solitary bedness.
[So she says now. I suppose she got the hysterical out-break about missing classes off her chest earlier - Ed]
