What is it that keeps one up at night? What cruel trick is this, when the body and mind have to scream and fight all day to stay awake, only to lie there in defiance when night finally arrives?

My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and the room is so bright I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a second moon hiding in my closet. I can see the smudge on the far wall of my bedroom. Suddenly I have perfect vision, and my hearing has reached super-human strength. I can’t hear a bloody thing during the day, but now I can clearly make out someone shouting their dog’s name eight blocks away with my window closed. I try to clear my mind, but morose similes keep forming.

Life is like the mirror hanging on my wall. Keep examining it, and you’ll spend all your days watching yourself slowly get older.

I shouldn’t have eaten that sausage roll so late. Tomorrow, after I fall asleep at the wheel and the rescue crew drag my corpse out of my crumbled car, it will all be because of that sausage roll. Why do you have to take a nap when you eat too much in the afternoon, but you’re wide awake all night if you eat something too late? Why can’t we have a little consistency in the world?

Life is like my radio alarm clock, full of annoying personalities that speak out at the worst of times.

I really need to develop a proper sleeping schedule. I’m a zombie during the daylight hours, propelled forward only by the power of caffeine, and even that is starting to lose its effect. I actually tried to eat a small child’s brain earlier this week, but his mother arrived while I was still rubbing margarine through his hair.

Life is like a box of chocolates. Eat too many and you’ll develop type two diabetes and, if left untreated, you may lose a leg or die.