Eva Bradley: Sleep is but a rare commodity

It is a curious condition of humanity that we always want what we can't have and this morning at 2am after counting about a million sheep before swapping to cows, I had all the time in the world to think about this.
Sleep, like feijoas and watermelon in season, is one of those things that is enjoyed and taken for granted when in plentiful supply but worth its weight in gold the moment you can't get your hands on it.
Until recently, I have always been one of those irritating people who crashes into an untroubled coma the instant my head hits the pillow. Although I generally need a lot of it, sleep is never something I've had a problem getting a hit of whenever it's on offer.
But recently, the dealer has shut up shop.
Whether it's due to work pressure, an unwarranted litany of personal dramas or something more sinister, I have of late developed an unhealthy fascination with my bedroom ceiling.
From the deep dark of the witching hour at midnight through to the creeping grey dawn, I stare at my ceiling and wonder all sorts of irrelevant things about it; who put it there? What storms has it seen off? What passions, joys and heartbreaks has it borne witness to over its 70-long years and who else has stared at it through long, lonely hours of insomnia?
To do or not to do is the dilemma all those who have ever struggled to get sleep will relate to. At what point does one admit defeat, switch on the light and pad down the cold hallway to make a cheese sandwich?
In stubborn determination to show sleep who was boss, I recently lay awake with the light off for an entire night. As each minute passed I kept thinking to myself it'll happen now ... I'll go to sleep in three, two one, NOW ... or maybe ... NOW? Pretty please?
But it never happened and when the alarm finally went off at 7am, such was my relief that despite having not enjoyed a moment's sleep I leapt out of bed utterly grateful just to be able to stop trying. Normally, however, my sleep patterns subscribe to a strict pattern of Murphy's Law which sees me spend all night lying awake wanting to get up until 30 minutes before I actually have to, when on-cue I drift into the deepest of sleeps from where not even 20 violent stabs at the snooze button will rouse me.
As any insomniac knows, the only thing more frustrating than lying awake at night is lying there while someone else lies next to you in a state of uninterrupted slumber.
At every peaceful intake of breath from my boyfriend lying next to me, I have to hold myself back from grabbing the pillow out from under his unconscious head and smothering him with it till he stops breathing altogether.
Or at the very least flick him in the ear just hard enough to wake him up but not hard enough for him to register it was me and my sleep envy responsible for the disturbance.
Although I have tried every remedy for insomnia both conventional and alternative, and I have even downloaded an iPhone application that simulates the sounds of rain and thunder in a bid to trick me into feeling all cosy, safe and sleepy in my warm bed, the precise moment of recovery is impossible to pinpoint.
For weeks I lay awake day-dreaming about getting enough REM to actually dream properly but now that I am mostly cured of the problem I couldn't actually say when it went away or why I didn't notice.
All I know now is that I have nightmares about my insomnia returning. But at least I'm asleep when I have them. Which, for me at least, is a dream come true.
Eva Bradley is an award-winning columnist.