The Green Tinged Witch from Wicked

I’ve seen a lot of dawn hours this week. I’ve lain in our gorgeous, palatial holiday bed, looking up at the fairy tale mosquito net thinking bad thoughts. I am not a good person without my sleep. It was unfair that my family should have to bring that woman on holiday. I stared long into the night at the green tinge cast by the air con control unit, cussing and thinking murderous thoughts. Poor Husband; what a risk he takes in sleeping next to me.

I thought I’d done really well with the jetlag the weekend I got back. My only remedy for this evil condition is to keep busy so I should have known that going on holiday immediately wouldn’t be good for it.

And it really wasn’t.

On Monday night and Tuesday night I spent three hours gazing around the villa. Wednesday night between midnight and three am I also endured a migraine. Eventually tormented by the smell of the mosquito netting (don’t ask, a hyper sensitive sense of smell appears to be something to do with migraine) I got up, paced about and then settled on a chair. Draped in a towel and a pink pashmina for warmth, I spent five hours blissfully asleep.

Some science...

So with a lack of substance to my days (the odd meeting but otherwise a pretty quiet week) the jetlag continues to manifest itself.

It makes reclining a very dangerous occupation. And I do like to recline.

I used to read on the sofa but since moving to Thailand my favourite place to read is on my bed. (We have a very funky sofa that everyone admires but which is deeply, deeply uncomfortable.)

So I set myself up on the bed. I might pinch another pillow to pretend that I’m going to sit upright but give me a couple of pages, the chance to drain my mug of tea and I’ll be prostrate before long.

Alongside inducing temporary narcolepsy, the jetlag has affected my judgement. I’m sure if I could be bothered to look it up, I’d find research to that effect. According to the investigation I did make the effort to do, the amygdala is part of the basal ganglia, and situated in the temporal lobe of the brain and is critically involved in computing the emotional significance of events.

Well the jetlag has buggered mine up.

I got the kids up for school and they both seemed fit. Well, as fit as you can be at 5.45am - the middle of the night whatever time zone you’re in. I sent them down to their bus and almost instantly I had misgivings about sending Son.

After returning to my bed to read, I was hit with another episode of jetlag induced narcolepsy. I was woken by the ‘phone at *ahem* 9.30 by the school nurse informing me Son was poorly and requesting that I come and collect him.

I am officially a waste of space. I shall be so until at least the weekend.

Nearly back to normal

Oooh it’s nice to re-enter normal life; I’ve been at Book Club this morning where we started and finished with a gossipy catch up and some book talk in the middle. It went on into the afternoon.

A couple of years ago, at our January Book Club, we met to discuss Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. Because of travelling, entertaining guests or other Christmas mania, nobody managed to give it the attention it deserved. So the following January we introduced a ‘pot luck’ meeting where members bring whatever they’ve been reading and enjoying over Christmas. We each get the floor to tell the others about our book choice.

It always provokes discussions and is often an opportunity to be able to say ‘if you liked that, you might like this…’ I like it because, being fundamentally nosey, I want to know what people choose to read when they aren't being told what to read by Book Club. It has introduced me to books that I might not have considered. Last year there was a lot of debate about Engleby by Sebastian Faulks – it seemed to be a love or hate it read so that was one I followed up with (I loved it.) Today I was reminded of Barbara Trapido, whose work I’ve often meant to read. Can anyone recommend which of her novels I should start with?

One slight hiccough to the ‘back to routine’ is that school started today without either of my children in attendance as both of them are feeling a bit sicky today. Hopefully all will be well tomorrow.

My own hiccough for the day is that I went to sleep when I got home this afternoon. Pah! I berluddy hate jetlag.

I must stay upright

It started out well yesterday – I woke and leapt out of bed at nearly 7am. However, after a cup of tea and some blog surfing (I’m astonished HOW many blogs are started and never touched again) I had to have a little lie down with my book on the sofa and it went downhill from there. I slept from about 8.30 to 1pm. Not much of a coincidence that 1pm here is 7am in the UK…

Anyway, despite completely screwing up my body clock, again, I’ve been strangely productive. I’ve done some paperwork that’s been hanging over me for some months and all that’s required now is to post it.

I wrote a blog post this morning that I’ve been planning since I was in the UK and all the while I was thinking ‘it’s ever so quiet out there at the moment, it’s a shame to post this one when no-one’s about…’ Just as I finished it I wondered about scheduling it for a date in a couple of weeks that it would be good for … then, rather like being hit on the head, I realised it would make a perfect premise for a short story for the women’s mags … I emailed Leigh asking what she thought and then I looked up some guidelines and now I’m scared. So many submissions …

Now I think about it, I wonder if this strange productivity is anything to do with procrastination … oh gawd. Still, I promise no more blow by blow accounts of JJ’s jetlag… This is the last one.

I must stay upright; I must stay upright; I must stay upright; I must stay upright.

I’m getting there

I managed to stay awake all day yesterday – even through Batman – and sleep on and off last night.

Today I’ve got my contact lenses in which is testament to the fact that the narcolepsy symptom of my jetlag has eased. I’ve emptied the suitcases; onto the floor. The dirty washing has made it into the basket and the books and the clean clothes are in a neat pile … on the floor.

I’ve been on the phone to Carol for two and a half hours to catch up with what I’ve missed here. And I’ve written 630 words for an article which I reckon I can record in 100 words a day. (Did you see? I'm first today; first... no matter that my day starts six hours earlier than yours... I was first.) With that off my back, I’m free to do some novel! Except, now I’m tired and I’ve got piles of books on the floor to fall over in the night when I’m awake again.

Stuff in my head

Okay so that wasn’t too bad. Thank you to all commentators. I was regretting it when Husband texted me to say there was a grammatical error in it. I do worry about those errors that I can’t see. I’m not dyslexic at all, but I really can’t see them. Is there any advice about that? Easier to read on paper? Double-spaced? The Reading Layout? Rachel’s advice has been taken – they were redundant words – and I’m going to have a think about SueG’s and Lane’s.

Yesterday was the beginning of my ‘one day at a time approach’ and I’m not going to be a mean and nasty bully to myself. I posted my opening: this is brave. I’m very frightened about showing anyone any fiction as I think I can’t write fiction. I have no imagination, see? So no, I didn’t write loads more on the book, but I did finish an article I’d been writing – which is WRITING. I sent that off. I hope it was okay because I had a big, fat, looming deadline of 5pm.

Today I was going to get writing again and I will but I’m later than I hoped. I can’t stop sleeping… Could it still be jetlag? In a minute I’m going to get showered, dressed and make another cup of tea and then I’m going to write the next paragraph. Yes, that’s all I’m aiming for: a paragraph at a time.

My tummy is in a knot because there’s Stuff Happening and Being Discussed about our Future. The reason I have a knot in my tummy is because no-one talks to me about our Future. Husband tells me what’s being proposed but the powers that be at work aren’t interested in what I think. Our contract runs out in July; the company has recently been taken over and Son begins GCSEs in Autumn term ’08 so we have to know where we are for the next two years. I wish I could be as cavalier as Son. Really, the company … no big company is that interested in such things – our family life. They only tolerate us (Me and the kids) because they want Husband to do his stuff. I can’t say anymore until … well until someone deigns to tell us once and for all what’s going on.

I’m showered, dressed and the tea is stewing brewing so there’s no more prevaricating to be done.

The alcoholic's adage

I’m still jetlagged but I’m feeling a lot better now that I’ve reverted to sleeping on UK time! I got the kids up for school at 5.45am this morning which is normal and then I went back to bed for a bit of a lie in and woke up at 12.15! Whoops.

I’ve been trying very hard not to be too hard on myself this week. My personality morphs into a witch when I’m tired. I look pretty much the same on the outside – apart from dark shadows under my eyes and the lids heavier than usual – but inside I’ve got green teeth, warts with hairs and a vicious temper. Gosh, don’t I sound attractive?

While writing an article this week I’ve been carefully mulling over what I’m going to do next. Tentatively I plan to get started again. I’m going to try and write in the mornings. I must be gentle. I’m going to start by think about both book one and book two – if I can. I suspect at some point book two will be put on the side but at least the ideas will be there in the unlikely event I ever finish the first one for when they are needed.

I’m not issuing deadlines; I’m going to do the alcoholic’s ‘one day at a time.’

Please keep your fingers crossed for me.

It's all talk

I’m back in Bangkok and jetlagged. I went to sleep this afternoon because I couldn’t stay awake which means I’ll wake again tonight (probably).

This morning at 3am: PING I’m awake. I felt pretty good until at Book Group when I had a moment of aphasia while trying to introduce a new member. I knew the existing member’s name – it was in my head – but I couldn’t work out how to make the right sounds and it wouldn’t come out. Sooo embarrassing.

In my final days in the UK I had a horrible, horrible, H.I.D.E.O.U.S (just in case you were in any doubt) realisation: that I share certain genes with my family. I’ve buried it deep and tried to deny that this applies to me but it’s just no good; I’ve got them. I’ve got a hefty dose of Stevens ‘fantasy planning’ genes. We talk about all the things we’re going to do … and that’s all we do: TALK.

OMG.
It’s me and my book.
It’s me and the filing.
It’s me and Charles Dickens, Tom Jones, and Madame Bovary.

I’ve lost the only 750 words I’ve written since January. I talked to Julia about this last Friday (not being a klutz and losing documents) but about the routine: doing it, writing, sitting and doing. It’s all to do with my ‘stop talking about it and just do it’ thing.

I make a big announcement: ‘this is what I’m going to do…’ and then fizzzzz pipple… and it’s gone. The air is thick with the evaporation of my grand plans.

I don’t want to be one of those people who say they want to write a book.