Insomnia

I haven’t slept. It’s like a group of psychiatric patients escaped and decided to hide out in my head with tequila and a couple of piñatas - the festivities have been going for a day or two. I’ve tried drinking hot chocolate, burning oils, incense and meditating to no avail. I guess nothing can help you when your unhinged friends drop by for a party.

Sex would be the best remedy, but there’s nobody to have it with. The last person to let me lay on top of her naked with this body has been gone a while. She was a lovely woman though - generous, kind, patient, caring, all the qualities you’d look for in a partner. Allie was just a bit too much of a hippie though. She’s probably now married to a guy named Aura who runs a retreat in Bali called Cosmic Caresses where for a fee someone will hold you in their arms and whisper in your ear how important to the universe you are. I hope she’s happy.

I’d be happy if I could sleep.

Being sleep deprived is dangerous, and I’m not really the the dangerous type. My heart rate rises enough at the thought of drinking an under-chilled chablis - god forbid I have to deal with a faulty oven timer while baking a sponge cake - that’s living on the edge enough for me.

Oh to sleep. Maybe if I get drunk - no, that’ll just make me want to put on a Bee Gees record. I bet Barry Gibb was sleep deprived when he wrote Night Fever, and Staying Alive - that could have been a Tragedy…

Actually, writing this nonsense has proved to be quite an effective sedative - it will probably put everyone else to sleep as well.