The Decision, The Hurt

I have been thinking about a decision now for the best part of a year. It was a decision that I have been wanting to make for a while, but I just didn’t have the bottle to take it.

Basically, my business has long outgrown the house I live in. My house is basically my business premises, in which I eat, sleep and be unmerry all year around. This home arrangement makes it look a bit of an amateur affair. In my opinion. This works for some customers, but for where I want to be, it is not acceptable.

But I am now so extraordinarily close to making this decision. There is premises available. I have a possible arrangement I can make, and a possible business deal with a contact. I am so worn down that I am almost ready to make this decision anyway. I have high ambitions.

And I feel ready to take the risk.

In relative terms, it’s a pretty big one. It’s bigger than the risk I took to move away in the first place and start up this business in the middle of an area I’d never before been to.

But I feel this time we’re almost there. We’re almost in the right position to make it.

Today I went to meet a friend. I don’t have many of those, but I felt I needed someone to sound off to. To just have someone listen to my ideas and evaluate them. I also went some way to offering him some ideas for how he could help me, which he was willing to do.

I have known this friend since secondary school. Originally he was going to join me in the business anyway- but he was never willing to risk everything to make it happen. He was just like most of the people I’ve come across in this world: they want the safety of the income stream from now to eternity. He wanted to wait for me to get it all up and running, and then he would step in to help.

He belittled my efforts. He said in the early days “I earn more stacking shelves”. He provided no support, no encouragement, no help. Much like my family, to be honest.

I would like to say I can find it in my heart to forgive them, but the truth be told is that a part of me can’t. It still sticks in my mind even now, despite the fact that I have decisively, convincingly proved them wrong, and am almost ready to make the next gamble.

It’s richly ironic that I may end up employing him, when the offer on the table, if only he’d had the bottle, was for 50% of the business.

I guess I should take joy in having the last laugh. I would like to think that I’d be better than that, but I feel like I deserve this moment of self-indulgence.

All that remains is the pain of not having anyone who really believed in me.

Sleep Patterns

I was supposed to write something yesterday, and then this morning, and now I am forcing myself to write before I give up for the day. Finding time for anything these days is a real challenge.

Throughout my life I’ve had all manner of sleep patterns. When I was in secondary school I used to like nothing more than going to bed at 10 to listen to my radio. There was a phone-in on every night on a local station at 10 that I used to enjoy a lot. Pretty sad, I know, but I have always liked to isolate myself. I’d listen for an hour and eventually give up. Some nights I’d fall asleep with the radio still on, only to wake up at 2am to easy listening classics…

Then as I got a bit older, I fell out of love with the phone-in, mainly because the presenter’s views were the opposite of mine. And as my involvement with computers and the internet increased, so I would spend the evenings and nights there instead, reading and posting to forums. That turned into going to be at or around midnight, and getting up at about 7 for school.

Towards the end of school life, before I went to college, I started staying up till very late, maybe 2 or 3am, some nights longer, just because I could. I’d still get up at 7. I don’t really remember what exactly it was I was doing, but I stayed up and killed my sleep pattern. How I found the energy to do anything I don’t really know. But it didn’t seem to harm me. Not even the numerous all night sessions that I would pull at weekends, for no obvious reason other than I could.

As college arrived, I would have to get up at 6 every day to make sure I was out the house by 7. It would have made sense, therefore, to go to bed earlier, but I didn’t. I grew out of the stupid late nights, but still was going to bed at midnight. Sleep was for the weak, I used to say. You can sleep all you want when you’re dead.

University was a bit different. I started to value getting some more rest. I was still going to bed at midnight, but now I was getting up at 8am, or a bit earlier if I had a 9am lecture. In some ways, I think I added more sleep to combat boredom. When there was no one else around in the morning, and nothing to do, you might as well sleep until you’re needed.

But I’ve never been one for a lie-in. In fact, I can’t do it. Biologically, I wake up. Even if I went to bed at 2am, my body wakes me up at the usual time, and often feeling OK. So I usually get up. These days I don’t even try to force myself back to sleep.

Uni changed little. There was no need for super early starts.

Life has also been the same. Midnight finishes, 7:30am starts. Pretty good.

Until recently. Now I am in a pattern I’ve never been in. Since New Year, since having the house all to myself, I have been getting tired around 9pm, and going to bed for 10pm. And then getting up at 6am or 6:30am.

In fact, I’d argue I’m sleeping more now than I ever have done. And all when I’m in most desperate need of more hours in the day to work in.

I suspect the two are connected. The workload recently is stressing me out and making me need longer to recharge. That has to be the reason, because normally you need less sleep as you get older. Not more.

I think the other reason is that now the mornings are pretty light… it makes me want to get up. It makes me want to seize the early hours to get things done, before the nastiness of the ringing phone and ceaseless texts and emails.

Talking of sleep…