Forty winks

Why is it that doctors never believe you when you say you can't sleep?

You walk into their surgery with the coordination of a troll. There are bags under your eyes a shade of purple that Grimace would envy (the least popular of the McDonald's characters).

Your speech has slowly disintegrated to that of a mid nineties rapper.

"Yo doc, I can't be catchin tha winx!"

"Hmm. Have you tried exercising before bed?"

Having walked four kilometres for the past few nights before hitting the hay I'm beginning to resemble Christian Bale from The Machinist.

 

Also, valerian root is fucking crap. Its like telling this bloke above that if he just has a glass of warm milk he'll nod off nicely.

But still, the man in glasses behind the desk frowns. He doesn't want to prescribe you any benzodiazepines in case you "get a problem".

Well, asshole, I'm pretty sure ten hours sleep over four days will soon send me crazier than Amy Winehouse on a crack binge, possibly giving me an insatiable hunger for newborn babies and an urge to publicly defecate.

Shit, I'd much rather be Ronald McDonald than Grimace. At least the clown has manners.