I wrote this earlier and found it in my little drafts area thing. Here you go.
It’s 06:30 and I am awake. I have not slept tonight because my body hates me deeply and wants me to feel wretched. I seem to suffer with pretty chronic insomnia and every route I’ve gone down to make it better so far hasn’t worked. C’est la vie.
Tonight is a little different. I’m a vegan and for some reason that I can’t quite understand right now, I ate a little bit of meat yesterday evening. So instead of The Human Centipede or being overdramatic about emotional issues keeping me awake, it was actually alternating between the thoughts of “I think there’s a goblin in my stomach eating his way out into the open” and “Oh no, I’m really not going to make it to the bathroom am I?” that have preventing me getting sleep. In short, I feel pretty ill.
I could have used these extra hours to do something productive or something that I’ve been putting off but I totally didn’t. In six and a half hours, I have:
I MISS UNIVERSITY.
After the mind-bogglingly boring sex scandals that saw Ronan Keating bonk a dancer, Vernon Kay texting someone telling her he had the horn and Ashley ‘I’m less interesting than a potato’ Cole posing for the world to see in what looked suspiciously like Primark pants, I’m bored.
If there’s no exposé on a BNP councillor paying a black, pre-op transsexual to defecate on his chest or pictures showing me that Ant and Dec are in fact a couple, I don’t much care. When the leading respected publications The Sun and The Daily mail reported on sporadically funnyman Jason Manford sending sexy tweets (twexts? Sweets? Seexts?) to a chubby funster called Something McSomething, I can’t say I was blown away. Average looking man chances it and requests to see average looking woman’s breasts? In my world, that’s called ‘every minute of the day in London.’ Seriously. I’ve lived here for a few months and I’ve been curb crawled several times (OK, twice). I dress more like a 1920s housewife than a street-walker and haven’t seen a red light in my area; it must be the junk in my trunk. I digress.