I love sleep, me. And I’m damn good at it. I have taught myself that once I’m in bed, anything I might have to worry about is pointless, there’s fuck all I can do about it lying down in the dark and most of the thoughts that pass through my addled brain will be utterly forgotten when I eventually drop off, so why worry? I can lie down, switch off the mind and be under in minutes.
Sadly, I manage my life so badly that I rarely get enough of it. And anything under 8 hours sleep leaves me fractious, anxious and rubbish at everything. Last week I tried 8-9 hours every night and even my colleagues at work remarked that I seemed unusually cheerful and chilled out. Trouble is, all that sleeping eats into valuable evening time which could be devoted to imbibing intoxicating substances while listening to music and chatting, either at home or out and about. So this week I’m drinking more and sleeping less. And I’m behaving like an overtired child.
It’s crap being human sometimes, all that intelligence and potential wasted because we’d rather be out of our faces most of the time. Pass that glass, will you?
If it Looks Like a Duck ... 