our bedroom was a large, airy affair, with some sort of despicable water veins running underneath, for how else to explain my descent into an unprecedented two week long insomniafest? the vast quantities of wine, you say? the overexcitement? the hours spent poring over the minutiae of what my mother meant when she said...? the late hours and rich foods? well, sure, yeah, but this was insomnia of monumental proportions, both in severity and duration. and, most importantly, it was shared by mister monkey, the man who can maintain a deep and angelic lack of consciousness in the face of the most hostile conditions. a trio of tuba playing neighbours? no problem! the hungarian olympic clog dancing team practising upstairs? wha? huh? zzzz... the man has the market cornered on the ability to sleep well.
as it was, the two of us lied awake night after night and my well-practised equanimity in the face of insomnia transmutated into vicious anger and frustration. after a week we moved the bed into a marginally better spot and got something resembling regulation amount of shut eye but not without a lot of dry eyed perusal of the ceiling.
ley lines? bad flow of chi caused by the incorrect placement of the door vis-a-vis the window? the unnaturally bright winter sky? the moon that seemed to remain full for an unnaturally long stretch? whatever it was, last night at home i fell asleep like a small person on big drugs. let's hope the same happens tonight, or i fear my internal organs will begin to disintegrate.