I go to bed tired. I wake up tired. The essence of the thing is that I’m tired.
I’ve tried all and bloody sundry ( because I added bloody there, it stops that sentence being a cliché) Don’t you get tired of rules sometimes? You shouldn’t do this and you shouldn’t do t’other..I get sick of it. Do what you want, I say. If it sounds right, feels right and it’s bare bones honesty (I did it again there, ON PURPOSE) then so what?
Anyway, I’m going off topic; ’cos I’m TIRED.
I’ve tried hot toddies, Kalms, Nytol and fairy dust. All of them swallowed down with another hot toddy or two. I’ve donned my bed with sheets washed in April freshness and sprayed my pillows with lavender and chloroform. I’ve listened to jungle music, but the monkeys scared me. I once tried operatic whales but they were spooky and I had nightmares about ghouls. There’s been milky drinks, aromatherapy eye masks, lengthy, detailed books in small print and I’ve even put my super sonic fan on in winter just to make white noise.
It’s bloody freezing.
Then I found this clock on Amazon. I tried to smile but my cheeks have been sagging due to the weight laden bags under my eyes so it was difficult, but I felt a touch of glee ripple through me somewhere. Could have been the toxins but I felt it.
A sleep therapy clock. Designed to aid deep, peaceful slumber: Equipped with pretty mood enhancing colours and over a hundred nature sounds. Bliss. I simply HAD to have it.
I put it in my virtual basket and had it on next day delivery. I felt all the yawns inside me fighting to expel at the very thought.
The day came. The sheets were laid. The bedroom temperature was set at the perfect 18.5 degrees C. The Whittards hot chocolate even came out of the ‘special’ cupboard.
Later in the day, the Amazon bloke chucked a big brown box into my porch. Like they do. I opened it up, removing the brown paper on top. Underneath was a grey, cellophane bag containing my item.
“That feels a bit flat,” I said, as I fingered it.
“And what’s that lumpy, stick type thing?” I asked myself.
I ripped open the plastic which refused to tear but just elongated into thinner plastic. Nothing is ever straight forward is it? Not even package opening.
I finally got inside and this is what I found.
That’s right. A gavel.
I stared at it for a few seconds and then went through that “is it me?” scenario where you check it’s the right address on the box with YOUR actual name on it and then you go back into the package to make sure you haven’t missed anything. I mean, this could just be a bonus prize or something. Maybe this was needed to stop the clock when it pissed you off.
That was all. Just a gavel.
I’m sure this kind of shit only happens to me.
I went on line to see that Amazon had sent me an email stating that they had successfully delivered my sleep therapy clock and did I have any feedback.
“Hello Amazon. You haven’t delivered my clock but instead a gavel. A judges hammer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am aware that both items can give time but really, it was the clock I was after. I’ve shaken the hammer but no birdsong comes out of it and whilst it’s a lovely shade of walnut, it’s not the kind of mood therapy colour I had in mind. I’ve considered knocking myself out with it as that is a remedy I haven’t tried yet but at the moment I’m more inclined to do that to you. Since I’m the one with the gavel I think the Universe has delivered just what I needed and that I sit in rule. Move over Judge Judy, Judge Jules is in the house. No prisoners. Can’t wait to ‘Hear, Hear’ your explanation on my ‘ORDER! ORDER!’
I was so upset.
Kept me awake all night.