Worpwoggletreefish… teeeeee hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!
You were expecting something like that? No? Good!
A few days ago I managed the first night of unbroken, eight hour sleep, in a long time. Now however, as I’ve reached the maximum dose of my medication, insomnia has returned. I expect it to abate again, eventually, as it’s done in every graduation.
Then that should be it for insomnia; no more increments in dosage pending, I should level out, side-effects-wise.
It’s the lack of sleep that’s kept me away from writing, if nothing else. I gave myself time for eight hours last night, but could only manage five, again for the second night in a row.
At any rate, there’s been some speculation through the backchannels, some inquiry into wellbeing, on account of my being a little quiet online and whatnot. No, I’m not dead, nor has the Flying Spaghetti Monster revealed His noodly appendage to me.
I’m still doing fine. There’s no doomsday in sight. You may recall that I entered into this at an unprecedented elevation of mood.
None of the scarier side effects have occurred; suicidal thoughts (I’ve never had those in my life); heart palpitations; spasms; nausea.
I’m just a little tired is all. You can all relax. Maybe I’ll sleep better knowing you’re chilled out.
If and when the upside of getting my sleep back coincides with better motivation, over the next couple of weeks before the benefits plateau, I’m contemplating having a little toy around with Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled. (Yes, I thought ‘oh dear!’, in Fry’s voice when I read the title).
Perhaps I’ll churn out a poem or two in an altered frame of mind.
Until then, poo-tee-weet?