Sleeps helps – if you know you’ve actually had some!

Double Vision with Charlie Adley

Here I am, wide awake in bed. Is it Tuesday? Which bed is this? How does water break? Was I ever well? Where am I?

Oh yeh, I’m visiting my mother. London calling. Brain swirling, body coughing up a storm. Put the light on, look at the watch, see the time.

2.15 am.

Please no. Please don’t let me feel this awake at two in the morning. If I have a bad night now, that Beelzebub of a chest infection will make another curtain call.

I’ve just finished the second load of antibiotics, but maybe the bastard bug was viral after all.

Been ill so long I’ve forgotten what well feels like. I know thousands of you out there have suffered the same way.

Weeks ago, the Snapper’s midnight New Year’s Eve kiss was an exceptionally brave effort, of which I was wholly unaware. Apparently, she stole into the bedroom and planted a smacker on my lips, as they flapped in and out, chugging forth a bellowing snore of snot and human slurry.

You romantic beast, Adley.

Must sleep. Can’t get ill again. Must

not infect my 87-years-old mum, who is at the moment fitter than both of her sons. Last night I was half of a dubious double act: The Coughing Adley Brothers of North West London.

Must sleep. If I sleep, then the next day I feel well. Must feel well so I can be a helpful and pleasant visitor, otherwise what the hell am I here for?

Must sleep. Simple as that. Must sleep. Pick up the book. That’ll do it. Chaim Potok writing about an artist’s struggle to remain faithful to his Hassidic Jewish traditions, while creating what his community considers idolatrous paintings.

Twenty minutes of that and I’ll be back in the land of nod. Eyes swim over the tiny print. My mind sinks into exhaustion, then suddenly rises up, bursting into the realm of anxiety and that dazzling glaring light, reserved for utter wakefulness in the middle of the night.

Is this the third week or the third month of it? If things are messy on my insides, my outer shell has fallen to pieces. I have a body that demands exercise, stretches and what we humans generally call movement.

I’ve been out for walks but can only manage short excursions and afterwards I feel disproportionately exhausted, which it puts me off trying it again for a good while. When I do walk (I still have to go to the loo) bits of me that once were firm are now wobbling up and down like an elephant’s jowls. My flesh is either shaking or sticking out and oh boy, it ain’t pretty.

To read Charlie’s column in full, please see this week’s Galway City Tribune.