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A major part of any sleepless persons life is what to do in the night hours. Tv? Rubbish, for the most part, and though I have my favourite dvd`s...god, how many times have I watched The 13th Warrior now?....sometimes, neither movie nor book gives you what you need.
And you get to being a little restless, trapped in the silent dark hours when it seems as if you`re the only one alive who isn`t reclining in the arms of Morpheus.
But I`ve been like this, off and on, since my teen years, so am used to it and have developed admirable coping strategies. Wanna know what some of them are?
*grins widely*
I collect weapons. And I use some of them too..crossbows, archery bows...swords..throwing axes...
I`m lucky enough here to have the outdoor space to be able to practice with these and they are a source of enormous fun and exercise.
I can open up the hay barn doors and in there is a peedie lightbulb which shines upon the target I can set up in there, in front of the bales.
So from outside, I can shoot/fire anything, at any time of day or night.
Or, if it`s too cold or windy outside, I can just sit with some natural wax and polish the beechwood stocks of the crossbows or the laminated limbs of the recurve bows, or the leather clad limbs of the Hunic, my favourite bow.
Sitting by the softly ticking stove, with the scent of beeswax, silence or the song of the wind outside, the wood begins to gleam in the lamplight and you know, there is something quite timeless about all of those things brought together in the night hours, and it`s hugely satisfying.
Or if I am too restless even for that, I`ll go for a walk.
Round the corner of the hof, a curved stone wall bejewelled with moss and lichen, down the softly sloping track, past the pond where I stop and look, and listen, to see what`s out there upon the waters...usually, there are a couple of wild mallards, and the swans, and always somewhere around are the moorhens, the same ones that daily live in my garden alongside my own fat, tame domestic ducks, sharing the barley.
Past the pond and across the single track road at the bottom of the track, across the wee stone bridge and out onto the beach, where the Peedie Sea stretches across to Stronsay under the moonlight, waves gleaming then vanishing, then returning again, an eternal dance made beautiful and otherworldly under silver light.
You wonder, sometimes, how many other sleepless folks ever stood and just watched the sea at night. Watching seals pop up and peer over the water at you, then disappear again when you don`t provide suitable entertainment for them. Watching the occasional sea otter cross the road on the way from one stretch of water to another...
How many others, standing, wondering where the waters lead, thinking random thoughts of what the day ahead might bring and would you have the energy to deal with it?
Lack of sleep always catches up with you, but usually not til daytime, as if there is something about the daylight that saps the strength...a kind of perverse relation of the Curse of Macha perhaps....
but at that moment, on the shore, watching the rhythm of the ocean and the moon walk the skies above you, there`s no tiredness, and instead a kind of contentness happens and it`s peaceful and slowly steals away the restlessness from you.
It`s a soothing, bonny thing to do.
Then it`s time to turn back across the road, up the track, watching the house grow nearer, seeing the warm glow of lamplight in the window, seeing a small silver trail of smoke leave the lum, happy you have such a roof over your head in such a bonny, peaceful place.

The only other coping mechanisms I have for such nights are the books, or the movies....
So that`s what I do...them`s yer choices, as me dad would say....read, watch, polish or shoot..
or take the track to the shore and listen to the song of the waves and the wind, soft and keening, high overhead.