Today I woke up at midnight. That's 2.00am by Christchurch standards, so not quite as bad as it may sound, but still midnight by Mission Beach standards so bad enough.
I tried very hard to sleep. Very hard indeed. Unfortunately sleep appears to be one of those things which requires effortlessness to work. Like dance moves. Concentrating, screwing my eyelids shut, and trying really hard did not do a jot of good. When my darling started to exercise his nostrils in his nightly snore, I decided that for me it was now morning.
Welcome World.
It is pitch black in Far North Queensland when it is night-time. I shouldn't complain because there is beautiful sun all day long (at least the last couple of days) but when the light goes out – it goes out. Ten minutes of sunset if you're lucky, and then pitch until 5.45am when the sun rises in equal time. That's a lot better than the other end.
So I sat in the dark (with the light on – if you want to cut down on the melodrama) and typed away at my computer attempting to make sense of information that just requires a few more hours sleep to make sense of. In other words, I stared blankly at the screen for three and a half hours, and then went back to bed.
My darling did briefly wake up when I did so, but then he fell back asleep to taunt me with how easy it was. He also began to snore again to ram my feeble attempts home.
I have been very restrained since being on holiday, I haven't kicked him once, and I was good once again. I calmly waited with my eyes closed tight until he woke naturally a couple of hours later and then I finally managed to fall back to sleep.
When I woke the second time the sun was full in the sky, and the wind was non-existent; the glorious beginning of our finest day yet (if you believe in judging days by hotness and availability of swimming pools which I do.) But with my broken sleep I couldn't be bothered to do anything.
Luckily it's holiday time, so that doesn't actually put much of a cramp on my style. I did coax myself into a nice walk along the beach, I did get my 10,000 steps by mid-morning, and I did have a couple of lengths of the very short pool, but aside from that the only time I left the house was to walk to lunch, and then walk back replete.
And this is the thing I want to know. Using Mission Beach time I woke up at 2.00am and ate breakfast within the hour. I then had a mid-morning snack at 5.00am shortly after which I decided that I could definitely sleep now, and returned to bed. When I woke up at 8.30am I was starving again, so I ate a second breakfast. I then needed a snack for morning tea, and when we went to lunch at midday and it took more than half an hour to receive our order (of pizza and sliders – health conscious to the last) I felt like chewing my arm off to stop my stomach grumbling.
I had a milkshake with ice-cream at mid-afternoon, and then ate another couple of magnums to round off the meal. That would usually be the last time I ate for the day, as we're going to bed on the dot of 7.00pm because we can't keep our eyes open, but tonight I was once again starving after an hour and so ate some cereal and some salami. And no that's not as bad as it sounds.
So what I'd like to know is how on earth is my central digestive system getting these messages to pig on out on food. Yes, I am walking about a little bit more, but seriously? Three extra meals more? There is just no way. I'd also like to go off on a small tangential rant about why Australia seems to have missed out on the Sugar-Free revolution but I'll put that aside for the moment because it's currently 13 minutes past my bedtime and I can't think straight.
I can always go to bed tonight thinking that perhaps tomorrow I'll wake up not wanting to eat the house of its food, and the world of its ice-creams, but I've thought that before.
I no longer believe it's going to happen.
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