I'm becoming a nocturnal dweller.
Awake until 2 or 3 AM some nights, sleeping until noon, I find myself turned around, much like a baby who can't quite get the grasp of when it's sleepytime and when it's awake time, and it's making me a grumpy Quin. As grumpy as if I were the parent of that child who shall remain nameless. *coughHRHcough*
I used to go to sleep peacefully, early in the evening... my writing done, my reading done, no television to bother my brain.... I'd drift off to my own thoughts quieting down, some tune playing gently in my head... perhaps a personal thought or two fluttering there. The point is, I'd go. to. sleep.
Upon my return from the U of K, I again fell quickly into the pit of darkness, exhausted by the change in time, my rushing around, the emotional sadness that overcame me. It wasn't until that Monday night, as I cuddled into my feather bed that is on top of the Titanic, having once again inflated said Titanic, nestling my head into my feather pillows (because if I have to sleep on an effing airmattress, I am going to have lots of feathers and good linen on top of it)...and I was--there. Jusssssssssssssssst there. You know, when you can feel yourself falling into the Land of Nod? Life is going away.... you know your next breathe will be an exhale into Nightworld when...
The Creature stirred.
What my wondering ears did hear, but what sounded like Santa and eight fucking reindeer!
Right in my little tiny flat!
It moaned, it groaned, it moved about, rattling and stirring and shaking everything. The walls trembled, the sound of the 'fridge was overwhelmed, and I was startled into full wakefulness.
We had a new furnace.
And, where is the new furnace located? Yes, right in the same area as my little basement flat. I am housed with The Creature. It seems the children who play the bongos and stomp on the floor weren't warm enough on the third floor, so, a new furnace was installed in my absence. I am only happy that I had cleaned, and nothing was lying about when they came in to do the work.
I'd hate to think I'd have left personal items out or something.
Can they still the beast? Well, according to Viggo, the nice plumber...who eyed my underwear the whole time he was talking to me...I keep it in a pretty basket (hey! it's New York! You store things where you can!) said "I gotta tell ya, dis is the best I can do. We put on da pump to drive the hot wadda upstairs for da childrun. You just gotta live wid it." Ogling the new silk bra and panty set folded on top, he left.
Now, at night, it's a race. Can I fall asleep before The Creature wakes up? Will 'da childrun' be warm enough? Will I hear the creaking of a floor telling me someone is up.. someone is moving..someone is adjusting the thermostat?
I'm becoming addicted to large doses of my herbal sleep aid, and nyquil is pretty good, too. Still, even in my fogged state.... when I'm deep in the pit of green gunk land... I hear it, rumbling. Waiting for me to go to the bathroom, when I'm partially awake...
When it will click on, and I'll lie there, awake, surrounded by it's gurgles and laughter.
Wishing everyone upstairs would just freeze to death in the dark.
Our Neville Fact:
As a young man, Neville wrote prose, and fancied himself quite the poet. When his poem, "Ode to the Titwillow" was turned down by the local Keats' society as 'quaint', he sat down, and realised they had a number of polite words for his work, including 'quaint' for his masterpiece, that they were all euphemisms for 'crap' in their eyes. He later privately published his work, and on occasion, will recite it at family gatherings, much to his children's dismay.