It's late...

It's late and I should have packed up and gone to bed.  In a minute, or five, I will. But I want a little moan first, and I think I need to do some explaining, too.

I'm struggling at the moment.  Ever since the 'flu I have been having terrible trouble getting to sleep, and sleeping really badly when I do.  I've tried herbal teas, I've tried valerian, I've tried a bunch of other things including some I possibly shouldn't talk about in a public forum.  I've read relaxing books and watched relaxing ballet and relaxing soppy movies.  I've gone out, I've stayed in; gone to bed extra-early; gone to bed extra-late.  No good.  Work is busy and I'm post-viral tired anyway, and this is just the living end, it really is.

Then, just to cap that, I'm struggling with the writing as well.  I'm working through the revising and typing up of "Gold Hawk".  I had a real battle to get through chapter thirteen, in which a character I'm fond of dies; now I'm working on chapter fourteen, in which we find out about something rather important and hopefully a bit harrowing that happened five years ago. 

I knew when I wrote it that the first draft for this bit really, as they say in the States, sucked.  I ploughed on and did the best I could at the time, and promised myself I'd get it into shape when typing-up time came.  But it is proving a real stinker.  So much so that I am playing about with anything else I can find, procrastinating, trying not to face it again.  I've written quite a good totally new short story (love-at-first-sight among post-apocalyptic crazy Highlanders, anyone?) in the gaps between tearing my hair over what really happened to David and Andrew Maple in the St George's Day terror attack in Cambridge.  Which never happened.

I can't make up my mind whether I need to take a complete break and give myself some space, try to get my head clear, come back to this in a week or two; or whether I need to plough on, fight through it, one way or another.  I can't make my mind up.  And I'm tired.

Moan over.  Tomorrow is Friday, which is one good thing, anyway.

The darned laptop

Very tired and frustrated after an appallingly bad night’s sleep. My dear, ancient, antiquated laptop had a seizure last night and I’m not at all sure if it will be okay tonight. I’m going to go home after work and try switching it on, and see what happens. But it went so completely haywire yesterday – and in ways that I haven’t seen before – that I am seriously worried about it.

I had been writing for several hours, and was just going to back up what I’d been doing onto a disc, for safety – but the disc wouldn’t read. Then the next one wouldn’t, and nor would the one after that. All of them were discs I have used before, that in theory still had plenty of space on them. Then the machine decided to “rescue” the entire contents of one of the discs, without my asking it to do anything of the kind. It started making a horrendous roaring noise, and went on doing so for about twenty minutes while very, very slowly copying the disc onto the hard drive.

Then it wouldn’t shut down. In the end I just unplugged it, which is not a good thing to do at all; but the alternative was to leave it running all night, chirruping and clicking to itself at intervals, and getting hot (it gets very hot – it’s an antique, as I said). I knew I’d never sleep if I did that; so I crashed out of it instead. And then, of course, I didn’t sleep anyway.

Once I was well stuck in to the White Night thing, I began to sweat my way through a whole raft of minor concerns and worries, all of which at dead of night seemed disproportionately looming and monstrous. Would K be okay in her new flat? And has she got any bedding? – How is mum getting on as she gets over that mysterious bout of food poisoning, and should I have rung her more often, and would it help if I were to go down to Kent this weekend to see her? – Is P okay, after that odd reference to having “work done on the guts”? - Will I be able to afford the next gas bill? - Did I remember to put a stamp on that letter? – Did I remember to put my credit card details on that booking form? – Have I ever given the WWT my new address? – Have I ever given the Inland Revenue my new address? (I know I have, but once one is set on an all-night worry-fest one can get very bogged down in these irrational fears).

And, of course, round and round came the refrain – What if the laptop is permanently deaded, and everything I have on it is lost? I know I am not up to date in my backing-up-on-disc. That’s what I was trying to do last night, when it went kaput, krank unt möglich todt bin ich, bleaahh…

Woe’s me, woe’s me, I have been seduced by technology, and now it has shot me down. It was my man, but it done me wrong.

I never should have stopped writing in longhand on paper. It’s slower, true, and it has to be typed up afterwards, which is boring; but it is secure. I don’t lose sheets of paper, and they are unable to lose themselves spontaneously. The computer may facilitate, but when it goes wrong it causes far more trouble than my nerves can stand.