I awoke at five this morning, my left arm completely numb from where I’d lain on it all night. I was filled with utter terror at the thought I might never recover feeling in the limb. Late at night or early in the morning come deep and existential fears to haunt us. For me, it was the concern that I’d done a Dave Mustaine, falling asleep on myself in a way that had caused permanent nerve damage. I tried to flex my fingers: nothing doing. I lay there, and if I’d been less tired, I would have quaked in fear. Instead, I wobbled my wrist with my right arm, and gradually feeling was restored.
This was not a good way to wake up, and I spent the day groggy and gloomy, rather than overjoyed at my escape from paralysis. I admit, I should have taken a more positive view, but the tunnel vision that sleep deprivation confers can be hard to battle.
This evening we walked to a posh restaurant in Tanjong Pagar to celebrate a birthday. On the way, we passed a restaurant with a large hoarding, emblazoned with the message “Merry Chrismas”.
What is Chrismas? I assume it celebrates the birth of Chris, who died for all our sis. The sort of Messiah who’s not quite done properly; the icon of his religion is a bloke in a baseball cap, secured to a wooden cross by some ineptly applied, not particularly sticky adhesive tape.
When is Chrismas? Well, soon, I guess, if the restaurant is wishing people a Merry Chrismas. In another six months they’ll be putting something up for Easer, which is when Chrisians celebrate Chris’s sacrifices by eating eggs, made from a combination of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, and some tallow.
Hey, I didn’t say that religious observance was always going to be glamourous. And to be fair, Chris did save us from the clutches of Saan. Supposedly.
Because of a combination of more booze for dinner (and the odd grain of rice here and there) plus my early start this morning, and the discovery of the Chrisian religion this evening, I’m rather below par on brainpower. Not to be even more pessimistic, but I can see this getting worse when I fly to London this Sunday. Still, I’ll get a break from the angry shouting of the cuckoos under our eaves. That has to be worth an extra hour’s sleep a night just by itself.