As most of you know by now, I’m doing 100 posts in 100 days. Or at least that was the plan. Two weeks ago, I buggered it up. Completely. I went away on holiday. Had I been going to most places, I suppose I could have carried on posting, but I’m not sure that watching their father type away on a netbook would have constituted a treasured memory for the kids.
But I wasn’t going to most places. I went down to a private nature reserve called Ntsiri. And Ntsiri has no power. Everything runs on gas. And even if my netbook had been powered up, it’s not like they have Wi-Fi there either.
Which is quite nice, since it took the decision out of my hands. I simply could not post from the bush. Yay.
But I’m back now, hammering away again. And I must confess that for the first time, I’m finding it heavy going. It’s all Mrs 23thorns’ fault. She has, you see, abandoned me to the tender mercies of our offspring while she goes off gallivanting in the Antipodes.
I happen to be doing hard physical labour all day every day. It’s a bit tiring. But that’s not the real problem. The real problem is that Mrs 23thorns is keeping me awake all night with her absence. I’m shattered. Broken. I can only open one eye at a time. Driving is an adventure, and I’ve stabbed myself in the eye with a fork three times due to depth perception problems.
So how is she keeping me awake if she’s not even there? We are creatures of habit, us humans, and Mrs 23thorns has her routines. I am a light sleeper. I cannot sleep until Mrs 23thorns has turned off the light and gone to sleep, no matter how tired I am. We sit outside and chat for a while after the kids have gone to bed. Then we might watch some TV if there’s something watchable on.
Then we go to bed. But not to sleep. Mrs 23thorns has to read a few chapters of her book. Then, at last, the lights will go off. But I’m still not free to sleep. First, she needs to lie on her left side for five minutes. Then on her right side. Another five minutes. And then, finally, her breathing will change and I am free to slip off to sleep myself.
Now that I am temporarily free of this routine, I cannot go to sleep at all. I don’t mean that I’m lying wide eyed in the dark- I can’t even go to bed. I wander around from room to room, picking up shiny things, testing out random pieces of furniture, and seeing what the sticky stuff on the carpet tastes like ‘til way past my bedtime. It turns out that I need my routines as well.
I’m getting about four hours of sleep a night. Which makes writing kind of tricky. The actual writing is as easy as ever, albeit one-eyed. But when I go back to proof read it, it turns out to be written in Swahili. It’s all a bit trying.
But never fear, I’ve been getting them out there. And there’s only another week to go before she’s back and lulling me to sleep with her dramatic re-enactment of a rotisserie chicken. Before I went away, I wrote about homicidal giraffes and wild animal attacks, and people who live in tiny houses.
Once I got back I got some people’s backs up by writing about the luxury safari industry. Then it was Christmas in July. I wrote about some animals we had seen on our holiday, and some animals we hadn’t. I wrote about Mrs 23thorns’ idiosyncratic approach to international travel and rounded off with a piece about inflatable boobs.
Just another 28 days to go! Stick with me; we’ll be doing human sacrifice tomorrow. Time to vote.