I'll be ten minutes late: I have to keep my head under cold running water.
Horrendous burns this and every morning, beautifully negating acne scarring,
but pushing the boundaries of transcendable pain. Women with childbearing
hips and uteruses, imagine going through childbirth whilst your head is
burnt, then factor out the childbirth; women who've yet to experience the
delights of bringing two-way blame into the world, and men, imagine having
your head burnt. Compassion, empathy, burnt heads; forget the compassion and
empathy and you'll know what I'm going through. I'm not complaining, it's
not who I am: we are dealt a hand, we cheat with the best cards we have
secreted about our person, and we play the game without resorting to
shooting the winner. I'm not complaining, I'm just letting you know why I'll
be ten minutes late.
For as long as I can remember I've been forgetful. I tell you this only
because I forget how long I've had trouble sleeping. Once, I seem to recall,
I didn't get to sleep until after midnight; I was saved the ignominy of
having dark rings under my eyes (Saturnian potatoes make shit chips: not
floury enough. Saturnian flour make shit chips: not potatoey enough.
Saturnian agriculture is a joke) as I stayed in bed all the next day
pretending to have cancer. I'm not an insomniac in any sense of the word,
but as long I don't mind lying about it, I can tell people I am. Recently, I
don't recall but the skinny has it, I've been sleeping better than usual,
getting to sleep faster and cheaper than ever before, with all profits being
passed on to the shareholders rather than the consumers, because they're the
ones who matter to me, they're the ones with a place in my heart (hostile
takeover of my right ventricle, even more hostile guerrilla war by me,
ceasefire, negotiations, peace settlement, stock option) they're the
important people, the big people. Snoring is up 8%, 9% in real terms, 7% in
honest terms; I'm sad to report that subconscious fretting is up 62%, 63% in
real terms, and a whole fuckload in honest terms. I have, if you'll believe
me when I say I only masturbate when I'm not making myself dizzy because of
the mess and the dangers of snapping when falling over, been tossing and
turning.
Cotton's not as smooth as you'd think. Sleep on it, sleep under it, look
closely at it, get your eyes right up close to it and look at the weave,
watch the threads, make sure they don't escape, make sure they don't ahem
run. See them. This is not a smooth surface, there will be friction twixt
sheet and face; where there's friction there's smoke, where there's smoke
there's fire, where there's fire there's a burnt head, where there's a burnt
head there's holding under a cold running tap for ten minutes, where there's
holding under a cold running tap for ten minutes there's tardiness. I do
apologise, I am sorry. I'm neither apologising nor saying sorry here, I'm
telling you that I already do apologise and that I already am sorry; if you
wanted me to apologise, say sorry, or something in between then you're going
to have to do so first.
The empirically minded amongst you - Otto, Reichard, Mongo, Junior (prize if
you get that one) - will have scraped your brains with cotton by now and not
burnt yourself. Fools, the lot of you, fools: you're just rubbing off greasy
dead skin. Prey, continue, continue for hours, continue for four hours,
continue for another four hours, continue for the same four hours as the
first four hours but a bit later on, continue to scrape your brain and
surrounding face with cotton. You've stopped, you've stopped before it's
time to wake up, you don't understand me, no-one does (c'ept those bands who
understand everyone by being different like everyone), life's not fair and
it's not my fault, and I'm better than you because I wake up from being an
insomniac long after I've been burnt by my cotton pillows, but I'm not
complaining, nor am I seeking compassion, empathy or apologies, I'm just
telling it like it is and explaining why I'll be ten minutes late. I don't
wake up. I carry on tossing, turning, gushing, burning, I dream something's
happening to my head, I feel the burning, every night I dream a different
reason why my head is burning, every night I sleep with this, every night I
have the pain but because I'm so perfect I can transcend pain, sleep through
my blazing head, and then wake up when I've finished being an insomniac.
I've been on first aid courses, I know that all I can do is hold my head
under running water for ten minutes. I shall be ten minutes late.