A story about not sleeping

#90 — Mister Insomnia

Trouble sleeping — read this

It was past two o’clock as I lumbered past the late-night kebab shops serving life-threatening combinations of kebab meat and chips.

Most of the late-night revellers had gone home, but there were a few hangers-on looking for trouble. So I quickly headed onto Promenade, and ten minutes later was sitting on a bench near the docks.

People were looking at me. Whispering and tutting: ‘Another bum on a bench: half dead, half alive.’

Close. I was an insomniac.

On camping trips with my parents, I used to lie awake wondering if it was time to get up. My father used to pass me in the night when he went for a pee, and asked if I was OK.

I said I was fine.

They eventually took me to a doctor, but the old quack said there was nothing wrong with me, and I’d sleep when I was a teenager.

I didn’t.

By the time I was 16, I went for days without sleeping — sometimes a week. I once tried alcohol, and slept for eight hours. But in the morning I was sick, so I didn’t bother again.

When I left home, nothing changed. I worked, ate, and watched TV. At midnight, I went for a walk, and at six o’clock had breakfast in a café.

So here I was, sitting on the bench by the docks waiting for the dawn to break, thinking of an article I’d read recently:

What Do All Successful People Have In Common — They Get Up Early!

Ha! I laughed. What do they know? Try not sleeping for a week, then see how successful they feel!

It got me thinking. Maybe I should use my time better: get rich playing the stock market like the people in the article. After all, I had the advantage of not having to get up, as I never really went to bed.

But what would I do with more money? I had money but never spent it. It just accumulated in the bank like books in a library.

I often thought of setting up a support group for insomniacs. I’d been to a few over the years, but they always met at set times in set locations. I wanted something more spontaneous, where people could rock up at any time. Like at three o’clock in the morning!

But how? As an accountant, I was terrible at organizing anything other than numbers on a page. Anything that involved logistics, planning and people, I found difficult.

So I called Usman.

Usman worked in the IT department of my firm, and was a legendary insomniac. I didn’t know him that well, but I knew he was always willing to help for the common good.

‘Usman, here!’ came the voice.

‘Hi, Usman. It’s Jeff from finance.’

‘Jeff. What’s up, can’t sleep?’ he joked.

‘Big time. Look, can I come round?’

Usman’s office was the same as everyone else’s, except there were no pictures of kids or a wife on his desk. No one marries people who can’t sleep — it’s like marrying a goldfish.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, as I sat down on a steel upright chair. The ones that companies buy to keep their employees awake. What a sick joke!

‘No, I’m fine,’ I replied.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘I've got an idea, and I’m wondering if you could help me.’

I told him about my late night insomniac support group.

‘How about holding it here? he suggested, his large eyes rolling in his sockets.

‘Here, in the office?’

‘Why not? No one is here at this hour, except me.’

‘But how will people know where to come?’

‘They’ll know,’ he replied. ‘They’ll see the light and fly here like moths.’

He was right.

A week later, there was a huddle of weary souls sitting in one of the meeting rooms sipping orange juice and tea. Some were drinking coffee.

I’d seen all of them at some point over the years. And they’d seen me. Sitting on my bench, or wandering aimlessly along the coast. In fact, the only person they didn’t know was Usman.

Three hours later, we’d all told our story, and The Night Owl Society was born.

The next night, there were eight of us. The same five from the night before, plus three more. The next evening, sixteen. Two weeks later, we hired a room.

Then I stopped going.

I got sick of listening to the same old boring stories about how they couldn’t sleep, and for the first time ever, I felt genuinely tired. So one night, I slipped out early, went home, and slept like a log. I haven’t been back since.

All I have to do now is think of all those people in the room talking about their lives, and I’m yawning, and it’s the best sedative I’ve ever had.

Usman, on the other hand, still can’t sleep. But he’s met a girl from the group, and together they run it. Two lovebirds destined never to fall asleep in one another’s arms. The ultimate night owls.

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