Monday, 10 September 2018

What if I can't breathe through the night? Every night. #WeAreTheProblems

I overthink everything to make the world a happier place

What if I can't breathe through the night?
Every night.

This machine is great.
It gets me to sleep every night.
It’s like having a reset button on my bed.

I’ve got this thing at night where I just stop breathing.

That’s how completely bored I am of my body...
“Oh I’ll just stop living then.
Place is dead anyway.

I’m so lazy I can’t be bothered to stay alive.
When I am literally doing nothing else.

But it’s even worse than that, because when I do stop breathing, I don't even follow through.

My body then goes:
“What are you doing?!
You’ve only got one job!”
And so I start breathing again, so I can fall asleep again, so I can stop breathing again.

It’s like "The Circle Of... Not Life".

Fifteen times an hour every hour.

It’s almost the most impressive thing I can do in bed.

It’s like my head is trying to kill me.
And it’s got a bit of an advantage...
because it’s got me by the throat.

Everything’s okay though because I’ve got this CPAP machine.
“Continuous Positive Airway Pressure”

It’s like slow kissing an air-conditioning spout on the back of a 1980’s coach.

Which I kind of like.

I’m not saying it’s the only thing going “WHOOOSH” in the bed.
But for my Wife, it’s like sleeping with a long-haul passenger.

On a flight that’s really in trouble.

And who wouldn’t want to share the sack with Robo-Elephant.

Looking like a dozy Bane from Batman...
sounding like a bootleg Darth Vader.

I am so grateful.
I'm getting filtered air through the night, like some kind of Hollywood wacko.

I am John Travolta in the Boy In the Bubble.
Or Michael Jackson with Bubbles the Chimp.

And this air, it's pushed into me whether I like it or not.

I didn’t get the full gist of this till my 3 year old daughter came in one day...

She came into the bedroom, standing over the machine.
“Daddy daddy! Wake up! Wake up!”

Farting into the air intake that's being jetted into my mouth.
“Agh! Get it off! Get it off!

Beans, veg, I don’t know what she's been eating.
But it's going straight into my lungs.

I can't take it.
"The Force is too strong in this one!”

But it turns out that is the way to stop not breathing.

Try my new book!

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How To Be A 1960s London Taxi Driver - chats with my Dad about doing the knowledge and driving a black cab

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