THE light shooting out of the television breaks through my eyelids and drags me back to reality.

I had only been asleep for a matter of minutes, but at least I was asleep. It had taken me hours to get that stage. Hours of tossing and turning, of rearranging pillows and throwing off covers only to retrieve them moments later.

Now I am awake and have to start all over again. Insomnia is not a word I care to use lightly. It conjures up images of torment which drives its dark-eyed victims into a state of frenzy, who avoid their beds as it only leads to more frustration.

I happen to like my bed. I just have trouble sleeping once I get there.

There are two broad categories for insomnia -- chronic (which could last years) and transient (which, as the title suggests comes and goes.) My condition comes under its own category. The Long Suffering Marjorie.

There has been a long-running stand-off in the million years we have been together. Whereas I would much prefer the strains of Elvis to fill the house at every opportunity, the LSM is more your television addict.

The battle extends itself to the bedroom where its ferocity magnifies. Whereas I can vacate to another room to listen to music while the LSM gorges on the latest soaps in the living room, at night-time it is altogether different. There is only place I can sleep -- or not as the case maybe.

When the television is on in the bedroom, sleep turns into little more than a pipe-dream. For a start the darkness of the room is shattered by the constant flickering of the cathode glow. I use my eyelids as barriers, clamping them down to block out the light but it is no use. When I start to relax a gap appears allowing light to flood in. And it's a light which constantly changes shades and intensity. Throwing shadows at different angles across my face depending on the programme and the scene.

Then there is the noise. Although the LSM is 'good' enough not to have the television blaring, it is still too loud to ignore. With eyes clamped shut I direct my own version of the unfolding drama using the dialogue provided. And as any good insomniac will tell you, an active imagination does not help gain a good night's sleep.

The situation led to a compromise, alternating between nights. One night there will be nothing but music swimming around in the dark, still room, and sleep comes both naturally and pleasantly. The subsequent mornings see me refreshed and relaxed, ready for the day ahead.

The next night is LSM night. Long, Sleepless and Murder. It was far from ideal, but at least I was getting a good sleep every other night. And with the LSM knee-deep in a teacher training course, her nights would not go on much past midnight.

Last week she finished her teacher-training course. And as she won't start work until the new term starts in September, she is currently enjoying a life of leisure. And I am enduring one of torment.

My nights still go to plan, with me firmly resident in the land of nod well before 11pm. But LSM nights are extending all the time.

Her sleeping pattern has changed erratically as she sleeps in longer and thus goes to sleep later. Getting to sleep before 1am on LSM night is impossible as my imagination switches between the late-night drivel she watches. The dialogue of second-rate soap-operas are the first to invade my mind, followed by the banter of utter banal American comedies. Then I start imagining the visuals to accompany the noises coming from the Learning Zone. Educational, as the LSM protests, she is going to be a teacher after all.

Tonight is her night and although I briefly managed to slip off, the canned laughter of the banal comedy has brought me back. Perhaps they are laughing at me.