1 December 2007 Insomnia
The Monks are not insomniacs but we are rarely on the same sleep cycle. Mrs Monk is the problem since she rarely recognises the conventional wisdom of sleeping by night and not sleeping by day.
I try to apply the rule, “If you can’t sleep, get out of the bedroom.”
If I am unable to sleep, it would only be if I had something on my mind, like an unpaid bill or a resentment against some arse-hole that had lied or cheated and thus demanded vexatious nocturnal plotting by me to get even; and there does seem to be a lot of that these days.
If I am kept awake in this way, Mrs Monk has an uncanny knack of being aware of my anxiety and will wake up demanding instantly and irrationally, that I, “stop thinking”, since my thinking would be keeping her awake.
Mrs Monk’s psychic alarm bells can bring her out of a deep sleep and initiate a demand that I retire to the spare bedroom. Rules are rules.
I would of course protest and I would argue that no one could possible be woken-up by someone else's anxiety.
I would say, “Yes, I was awake and yes, you were certainly asleep because you were snoring but I was silent and still, and even if I were anxious, how could that possibly have raised you from your slumber. If anything, your snoring may well have contributed to my insomnia....”
I would refuse to retire to the spare room and we would both settle down to a further attempt at slumber, and within moments Mrs Monk would again be asleep and snoring magnificently. I would lay there beside her and would no longer be anxious about some arse-hole that had lied or cheated and thus demanded vexatious nocturnal plotting by me to get even, but now I would be anxious about disturbing Mrs Monk from her psychic awareness of my anxiety. I would lay there immobile silent and stiff as board as Mrs Monk would be blissfully comatose and unaware of my sleeplessness. Until that is her magic psychic phenomena might kick-in, and then out of her sleep she would again confront me irrationally, and demand that I, “Stop Breathing,” and then without another thought would relax again into her comatose state.
At this point I would give in and make my way to the spare bedroom. If I were keeping Mrs Monk awake, then we have to abide by the rule.
Two nights later my temporary amnesia had abated and I was able to sleep soundly. Mrs Monk knows that I can normally sleep through virtually any disturbance and she will exploit my normal tolerance, break the rules and go about her normal business. At 3 am she might be watching TV and I would be roused from my slumber, if not aroused by Mrs Monks new discovery of Essex Babes touting for business on the many Murdock phone sex TV channels.
“I taught her English” Mrs Monk likes to say when caught watching these underdressed girls waving their tantalising phones and other assets.
I might then drift off to sleep and then be awoken by Mrs Monk doing air-tennis in a Walter Mitty kind of way practising first her pyjamerrd forehand, and then her pyjamerrd backhand, just as her handsome young tennis coach encourages her, so to do.
Since I have seen it all before, I am usually able to drift off back to sleep until the next interruption to my slumber which on this occasion was a poke in the ribs and a question:
“Monk, Monk,... pass me the water,” said Mrs Monk.
I carefully passed her a full pint glass of chilled mineral water, asked her to be most careful, and then I drifted off back to sleep.
Perhaps you have guessed the inevitable outcome. Mrs Monk herself, perhaps fatigued by the Essex girls and her nocturnal tennis practise, also fell asleep without first drinking from the glass of water, or placing it safely on the bedside table. She simply emptied the contents of the glass in an efficient tipping manoeuvre that rendered herself and her side of the bed unaffected and dry, and me and my side of the bed soaked and alarmed and terminally .....awake.
In these circumstances I would retire to the spare room since, I would now be in danger of disturbing Mrs Monk for the remainder of the night.
Rules are rules.