Is there a name, do you know, for when you are perfectly capable of getting to sleep but just can’t be arsed? Elective insomnia? Napathy? I only ask because I’ve been suffering it for about a month now and it’s making me exhausted.

I half-assume there’s some root cause to it but then I remember that actually I suffered from it a lot at University too. Maybe it’s just a thing. I think it’s connected to uncertainty – some decision that needs to be made about what’s next. I was reminded a few days ago that my current tenancy agreement is due to expire in just a little shy of a month. Which leaves me with the question of where to go next. Part of me thinks I should just get an Aussie man and van to move me more centrally; another part of me thinks fuck it, stick my Ikean furniture on eBay and move to Nevada. Or Boston. Or – I dunno – Ohio.

Oh me oh, oh my oh, oh Cleveland, Ohio.

Fortunately, everybody I ask has a precisely different suggestion, or they assume I’ve already made my mind up. And I’ve less than 48 hours to tell my Estate Agent what I’m doing. I probably should use all this awake time I’ve elected to have to make my fucking mind up. But instead I’m nearly 24 hours in to my day and I’m blogging this nonsense while watching an old Hunter S. Thompson interview on Charlie Rose. He’s talking about the Rum Diary.

I think I might go to Tesco and buy some sausages and eggs. Ocado don’t get here ’til five and I’m getting hungry.

Jesus.