Sleep is delicious; waking up not so much…

To be awoken by the gentle head-butting of a small furry creature is by no means the worst way to begin the day. The affectionate kneading which stops just short of drawing blood and the sniffing of the face which forces you to open your eyes, to be greeted by two bright green ones gazing down at you is preferable to the grating sound of an alarm clock. In this case I mean a cat. Other small furry creatures are available.

I suppose the best morning feeling is knowing you could stay in bed all day if you really wanted to, without feeling guilty, which, perversely, often makes you jump out of bed with more energy than ever. That feeling in the Autumn of being neither hot nor cold, but comfortably adjusting the duvet and burying yourself a little further beneath it, for pure pleasure’s sake, is unbeatable.

Perhaps you don’t appreciate a lie-in when you have too many of them, or maybe the lack of appreciation comes from knowing you really should get up because you actually have things you honestly should do.

Personally, I need twenty minutes, at least, to stay in bed, if only to order my thoughts, given as I am to fairly vivid dreams and nightmares, and, curiously, those twenty minutes are when I have most of my creative (if you can call them that) ideas. I feel inspired and proceed to make lists of occurrences and things I really should look into, and whether or not I make the most of these epiphanies, at least I feel positive. But not always.

The other night I nightmared (if dream is a verb, why can’t nightmare be?) that I was trapped in a mine and being buried alive. I still have the image in my head. Apparently it means that you are about to make a bad decision. I don’t really care. I woke up sweating and shocked and gave my cat forty fits. Not a nice way to wake up. It’s similar to when you wake up ill in the dark. With earache. Which I think is possibly the worst minor malady you can experience. Especially in the dark.

My mother used to wake us up as gently as possible, even with a little song. After a couple of fruitless tries, the curtains were whisked open and we were rendered blind for a minimum of three minutes. Sometimes the window was opened, obliging us, and when I say us, I mean my sister and me, to retreat further under the duvet and begin to panic at the thought of poking out a toe. The ensuing chats with my sister were inevitably short and unimaginative, especially during her teenage years when I was still a child and more than anything an annoying room supplement. She also experienced being awoken by me on holiday when we had to share a bed. I could sleep profoundly through a thunderstorm, but as a kicker and talker, left the person I shared with red-eyed and bolshy by the time morning came.

For all the stress I may have caused, there have been some fun shared moments. Waking up laughing is a rare and delicious experience, usually accompanied by someone else. That’s a disclaimer, as in general I don’t wake up laughing by myself. That would mean I’m mad. And I’m not. As far as I know.

That sleepy haziness as your eyes come into focus and you feel momentarily surprised to see someone next to you. A yawn, a mumble, a smile, that small smile that turns into a giggle as you realise this other person is seeing you in all your vulnerability. It’s going to be a good day. That’s if you have to get up at the same time. If you don’t, it’s torture. Getting up when the person beside you can stay in the warmth and comfort and security of his or her haven is unbearable. Jealousy creeps in, even if it’s someone you love.

If you have children, waking up is no doubt simply the first chore of the day. I wouldn’t know. I do know what it’s like to be awoken by a small nephew entering my room at 7 am who resents me if I ignore him.

Awaking in the morning can be beautiful, be it alone, with furry companion, or person; the sound of the birds, the light softly penetrating the window, the muted human activity, but more often than not, it is stressful, loud (when you need an alarm at the decibels that I do), depressing and not a little disorienting.

But at least it means you’re not dead.

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Episode Nineteen: Curious Words P to R