I have a wonderful pillow.
It's an iPod pillow. No, not a pillow shaped like an iPod. It's a pillow you can plug an iPod into or, well, any mp3 player, I guess, but I have iPods so an iPod pillow it shall be called. iPillow? iDK. Okay, that was needlessly twee.
So, I plug my iPod into my pillow because, hey, non-fatal insomnia, can't get to sleep for hours (and hours and hours). Sometimes it's music, but most of the time, it's audio books, like Neil Gaiman reading me short stories or Jeremy Irons deliciously reading Nabokov or Stephen Fry doing a million different voices.
Okay, most of the time it's Doctor Who Big Finish Audios. Sometimes I doze off before the end.
(You can totally see where this is going, can't you?)
This is how I get to sleep most nights. Of course, this means that there is the inevitable, nearly heart-attack inducing, reducing me to a wee five-year-old leaping behind the sofa moment when the Daleks show up in an audio. I mean, I'm just trawling along, dozing gently to the dulcet sounds of Paul McGann's voice, halfway off to the magical land of the REM cycle, for which I don't have frequent flyer miles.
Then, it's all EX-TER-MI-NATE. EX-TER-MI-NATE. EX-TER-MI-NATE and fucking Nicholas Biggs in my ears, all fucking evil megalomaniacal genocidal pepper pot glory that, thanks to the wonders of the hypnogogic state, makes me see Dalek-shaped outlines on the inside of my eyeballs, flail, and occasionally fall off of the bed.
This post is brought to you by the bruises on my knees and the carpet burn on the palm of one of my hands. I have a rather high bed - it comes up somewhere nearer to my hip than my knee.
