On Insomnia

While reading Angus Wilson's engrossing The Strange Ride of Rudyard Kipling - I am probably the only person to have picked up a book by Wilson in a decade, which is sad - I gave a little yelp of delight at the discovery that Kipling was an insomniac. This is because I am an insomniac and I like to hear of gifted, talented or successful people who share the affliction. People who rarely or never have a bad night cannot imagine what real insomnia is like nor do they have any access to the strange brotherhood of insomniacs. To us each night is a threat or challenge and each day is defined by the exact quality of the rest we achieved the night before. In fact, a bad night's sleep is not necessarily a prelude to a bad day; I often find the resulting dreamy, detached condition rather better for my work that the excess of energy I get when I sleep well. I suspect others find both conditions irritating which could explain the faint but distinct air of exasperation that surrounds me wherever I go. The trick is - or at least my current tactic is - to go with the sleeplessness. I don't do anything, I just let my mind wander. This seems to make the night a friendlier place. Indeed, I look forward to entering this liminal state. It makes the night seem very long, though not as long as when I decide to eat breakfast at 2 am or try to do my VAT. Anyway, as you will have guessed, I had a bad night which is annoying because I am about to have my photograph taken. But I don't mind. I feel, as I am sure most insomniacs do after their better bad nights, untouchable.