Insomnia and strap-ons

I've never felt any real sympathy for insomniacs.
After all, what kind of moron can't sleep? Surely it's a talent that we all possess? The ability to sleep isn't so much a choice as a necessity. I remember reading about David Baddiel being an insomniac and, secretly, I was quite pleased. The man is a wanker and the idea of him laying awake at night, unable to fall into a slumber, whilst realising that, essentially, he is a talentless scumbag, gave me a sadistic thrill.

So, insomniacs, you're a shower of idiotic buffoons who deserve every sleepless moment of your pathetic, unfulfilling lives.

So, to the present. I can't sleep.

It's the early hours of the morning and I'm completely awake. I'm sipping from a small bottle of dutch beer and a plastic glass of a Czechoslovakian spirit made from plums or goat feotuses or something, listening to Miles Davis. My psychic flatmate has hidden her bottle of vodka. All week long I've seen it sitting in the kitchen and completely ignored it. The night that I could actually use some, she's hidden it. Smart.

For the last week or so I've been experiencing a combination of insomnia, horrific headaches and quite frightening chest pains. I was convinced yesterday that I was going to die and, indeed, gave myself until midnight. I truly believed that I would feel a terrible pain in my chest, akin to being hit with a ten-pound sledgehammer, then pass away screaming, vomiting and soiling my underwear. 'Bad Rat' even went so far as getting me to write out a will bequeathing my Tom Baxter CD to her. However, I added a sub-clause which meant that, in the event of my death, she has to delete all the porn from my PC before my poor old mother comes round and finds it.

I think that's a big fear of mine, that when I die all the people around me will realise that I've built up a sizeable collection of hardcore pornographic images and videos which, frankly, are frightening. Even more frightening is the fact that I'm so ridiculously anal (in the organisational sense) that I've actually arranged my porn into specific folders: Blowjob, Fuck, Handjob, Titfuck. Is that obsessively sad? I don't know. At least there isn't a folder entitled 'being anally abused with a strap-on by a large-breasted woman wearing a hockey mask'. That'd probably be under miscellaneous, anyway.

I've decided that I'm going to write a blog entry and store it in perpetuity until my death. In the event of my impending heart attack (that's how I'm going to go, I just know it), the blog entry will be posted (Bad Rat may well be involved in this) and it will detail the things that I REALLY think about my friends and acquaintances. Hell, I'm going to draft it tonight.

Oh, and I've quit smoking too. What a week.