Folks I have a confession to make. Well – I have it! I have “RMD.” That’s right guys, “Rhythmic Movement Disorder”. Its OK don’t panic – its not contagious, unless you want it to be of course. I’m not sure if it was the red or green cordial that caused it, but it was a disorder that manifested itself just about every night of my childhood. My socially sensitive mother did not tell me the full scientific name or significance of my special condition she just called it “Wo-Woing”. No wonder I never took it seriously I mean to say how can a psychological problem called a wo-wo be that severe that it requires immediate medical treatment. Imagine going to the doctor in those days and saying “I wo-wo!” He would have more than likely responded to my coming-out declaration with “Pleased to meet you wo-wo, I Doctor Poo-Poo”. Still, in one way, I’m glad that I at least have a disorder. See, strange as it may sound, some of my family and friends have never been diagnosed with a “TLD” “Three Letter Disorder” and I have no idea what or who they blame for all their stuff ups. Me? I had “RMD” and folks that’s the reason for everything that I ever did that was wrong. I just knew there had to be a medical excuse for not doing my homework, not eating apple pie, watching TV instead of working and eating Mum’s chocolate biscuits and blaming it on Tom – it wasn’t me, no sir, it was the diagnosed effects of “RMD”. Now with the help of the World Wide Webb, I have finally been able to identify and label this insidious disorder that robs people of sleep. Not my sleep mind you it was my poor brothers that lost their sleep. They had to share the bedroom with me and could not sleep until my disorder had run its course for the night. It’s still a bit hard to talk about it, but they do say it is good therapy to do so. All right – the wo-wo went something like this. Firstly, I would hop into the middle of the bed at night on top of the covers. Then after lying on my back for a moment or two, I would bring my arms and hands together over my chest in a prayer like fashion. Finally, once in the dead papal position, the “RMD” would kick in vigorously rocking my body from side to side with my head leading the action. In this state I would rock-till-I-dropped and quite a while before it was hip to do so, I might add. See, the rocking would continue until my sub-conscious brain took over in my deep sleep state and finally shut the B%&$*y thing off. That’s it folks that’s “RMD”. Oh yes! I forgot to tell you. I also had “LSV” with my “RMD”. It was in fact the “LSV” that created the greatest disturbance in my house. “Loud Singing Voices” have a tendency to do that, particularly late at night with the reverberating sounds being more reminiscent of a drunken, gurgling sailor than a soloist from the Vienna boy’s choir. Still, they were church songs that I sung from the list I had written and placed on my bed head. I don’t remember singing to the bottom of the list at any time but boy did Gabriel, the music angel, get a hammering from songs 1 to 5. Oh well, if you must have a “Three Letter Disorder” to keep the plethora of psychologists in business today, then mine was not such a bad one to have. All it needed to become medically mainstream, was a better marketing profile and more acceptable branding – than mum’s “wo-wo” descriptor.
