Apes, Hearts & Travel

In the past when I hit the pillow I was out for the count, in fact my sleep was more like a coma, it would have taken a thermo-nuclear device to rouse me from sleep until morning, until morning when I would wake up, without the aid of an alarm clock each day at six am.

 Now it is 3am and the sleep Monkey is at it again, the little shit woke me and I cannot get back to sleep. This happens often now, nights are punctuated, I am awake and thinking, unable to get back to sleep. I found this disquieting at first, the world for the most part in slumber, me not,  there must be something wrong with me, I didn’t need to look far to find things that could be.

The internet is a great source of anxiety if you are looking for it, one of those nights sleepless I surfed the net and found that the most common time for an heart attack is in the early morning, from around four am. Oh shit, that’s it, thats why I wake up at this ungodly hour, its my heart,  am I going to have a heart attack? Awake at 4am I begin to stare at the clock, is it going to happen now, is this why I am awake?

My heart figures high in my thoughts and has done for a couple of years, both  the pumping real thing  and the figurative, are they one and the same?

I would say that I have been heartbroken, in the metaphorical sense, it’s by  far the best way of describing how I have felt. Is it simply that, a metaphor, a word only? I wonder, as my bloody beating heart has not been in the best of condition in the last few years either, Is it my heart waking me up? I have a rhythm issue with the one that pumps, its not dangerous in the great scheme of things, it’s medicated and working, but it’s there, along with high blood pressure and cholesterol, could they possibly be linked, is the metaphorical heart and the beating heart one and the same, I wonder?

I then find another article that not only lets me forget about my dodgy heart but actually gives me cause for feeling that actually I might be a renaissance man. Apparently a straight seven or eight hours sleep is un-natural, it only developed as a result of the industrial revolution and with artificial lighting, it’s perfectly ok for me to wake up in the night, hell, it might even be better for me. Pre-Industrial man the world over, from Europe to Africa slept in two stints, in South America Siestas are ok, maybe I am getting back to a natural way of sleeping, hold that thought, its more positive.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Segmented_sleep

Earlier in the year I became friends with C, a Scandinavian lady, tall,blonde, statuesque, the way though I would say describes her best is warm, with an infectious smile and great to be around. In short a super-sweetie of a woman.

After Christmas she came to London for a few days holiday with her new boyfriend. Having not met him before I was very curious about how I would find her new chap, being fond of C I found myself wanting the boyfriend to be a nice guy, she deserves a nice guy. Though nothing really to do with me I wanted to approve of her man, to be able to decide for myself that he was good for her, when I saw them together I felt comfortable with him, he felt like a decent man and a man that she could be happy with, that they could be happy with each other. His profession? Well he was a Cardiologist, she had a Doctor to take care of her heart, a specialist in the field. It has a nice ring about it, my friend is with a man that can take care of her heart and they look damned good together, I hope it works out fantastically.  In some small way whilst I am very happy for my friend and for them both there is a tinge of envy, the envy is that I cannot have something similar, I cannot be with a partner, it doesn’t work for now, I don’t feel right, a relationship doesn’t feel right for me for now, however much it may appeal. I would like it to be different, but something prevents it, for now.

I once loathed the word journey, when it came up in conversation, used by somebody in the sense to explain how they viewed their passage through life, it irked me so much because I had no space for a journey. It didn’t figure in my thinking, in fact hearing somebody talking about their journey  made me feel angry inside somewhere, talk of a Journey was clap-trap new age rubbish, used by clueless people unable to live in the real world and looking for meaning where none existed. I was convinced of it, a journey, what rubbish.  I was busy getting on with my life, or so I thought.

Now what I thought ridiculous is what I have taken to heart, my journey, thats the only way I can describe what I am doing, there are many things that I want to find out about, to understand, in the world, in myself and in others. I have no idea where this will take me, I am not sure if I am strong enough to keep at it, if  I am a fool or a dreamer,whether I am looking for something that I will never find, or if I it will take me to a place where I find some sense of peace in myself and my world.

How funny it is that a word that made me angry, that I loathed and ridiculed when others mentioned it is now beyond anything else what interests me most,  journey it is.


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