Hi, My Name's Michael, And My Future Is Cancer-Ridden Alcoholism

Christ. Suddenly it's 6:30 in the morning and another day has slipped past without any sleep. I'll be listing clinical insomnia on my CV soon, as a practiced talent and qualification.

The hair monster was supposed to be slain today, only I lacked the necessary energy to stagger down to the hairdressers, so I cancelled my appointment. I did, however, find the stamina to nip over to the off-license and grab a bottle of Jack and a couple of packets of cigarettes. These are gone already, and the thought worries me.

Hi, my name's Michael, and my future is cancer-ridden alcoholism.

This is the problem with the early mornings. They're just an all-around fucking downer for me. My body's aching but my brain is just coming back up to speed after the dead time between midnight and five or so. If I'd forced myself into bed then, I might have had a chance of crashing, of finding oblivion and hanging out there for a day or so. That's what tends to happen to me if I can get myself in a position to sleep when my system finally gets itself into a state of synchronised exhaustion. I just crash out for something like fifteen hours.

Still, at least I got a lot of work done today, most of it on a surreal piece of science fiction lunacy entitled Deliria. When not working on that and drinking heavily, I was surfing vaguely around and chatting to friends. I also took the time to tidy up and streamline my profile at Everyone's Connected, one of many sites I'm a member of. You can find my funky words and pictures here.

That'll do for today, I think. I'm off to read for a bit and see if I can trick my brain into thinking I'm staying up while secretly plotting to go to bed.

Shhhhh.