There is a moment in every insomniac’s life where one realizes that his or her handle on things has flown at the window (not like I ever had a handle on things). The last few months in terms of sleep have been utterly dire. I’ve become typically obsessed about sleep or shallI say, not sleeping, how to get more sleep, who sleeps when I’m not sleeping, the word sleep, sleeping remedies…etc. If you’ve ever been in my shoes you know exactly what I’m talking about.
And like any good obsessive creature, I’ve started exploring every path possible to a better night’s sleep. [I also must confess that I’ve never understood Michael Jackson’s dependancy on heavy sedatives more than I do now. The man just wanted to get some damn sleep!] Currently, I’m undergoing acupuncture, herbal remedies, yoga, have tried sleeping tablets (I hate them), cough syrup, counting sheep, reading the phone book, and am about to venture down the melatonin and homeopathic path. You see, I don’t take this sh*t lightly. I can honestly say being where I am now, I wouldn’t wish insomnia upon my worst enemy…well maybe just for a night or two.
Anyway, today I accidentally shoplifted. No, I’m not a closet kleptomaniac crying out for help; I legitimately had one of those moments where I was so tired (and hopped up on cold medicine) that I was walking around the streets of London like a zombie with brain damage (I’m thinking if I was a zombie, I wouldn’t really have a brain, but let’s not nitpick shall we). I shall explain, as I’m sure many of you are questioning my sanity and thinking of calling the authorities.
So, I was in H&M looking for some clothes for the King (cheap kids clothes, I highly recommend). Upon my path upstairs, of course a cute cotton skirt caught my eye – you know how this happens. By the time I got upstairs, I was swallowed whole by the boy’s department and was up to my neck in sizing confusion, color conflict, and bad decision-making power (insomnia, cold medicine). Whilst I was working out what to buy the King without melting my brain, I must have thrown the skirt over my shoulder and as the material was quite thin and there wasn’t much to the skirt, it just kind of stuck to my coat. Of course, minutes later I had forgotten I had done this and realized I couldn’t find the skirt – um, DUH, brain damage – so I spent five minutes in a hazy stupor walking around the store trying to figure out where I put it. Finally giving up and telling myself I didn’t need the damn thing anyway, I went and paid for the King’s outfit.
Unaware of anything amiss, I walked out of the store (apparently the alarm was blaring but insomniacs don’t hear alarms) and sauntered down the block thinking how good a cup of coffee would taste. I’m not sure what made me look, but I finally noticed the blue skirt stuck to my shoulder (thankfully without a hanger, as that would've been far too embarrassing) – and stopped in my tracks, bursting out laughing (it was either that or start crying and check myself in to the nearest sleep clinic). I of course turned around, walked back into the store – setting off the alarm again (this time I heard it), put the skirt down and walked out.
NOTE to H&M, you may want to beef up your security. Note to self: for the love of God, SLEEP!