Move over, Clark Kent.

Move aside Clark Kent, I should be superwoman instead. It’s 0422hrs and I still don’t feel sleepy. Yes, it’s the weekend, but that’s not enough reason to continue screwing up my body clock. All in all, I’ve been losing sleep since the start of the year.

I visited my GP last week because I was starting to cough. He refused to give me any sleeping pills and told me that the cough mixture he was going to give me would definitely make me drowsy. Guess what. It didn’t.

On a separate note, I’m also starting to suspect that he’s cuckoo. He hums and goes like lalala when he’s writing scripts. And he’s so into the whole natural healing and remedy shit that he wouldn’t be out of place on the Sound of Music set. If he recommends me to go put flowers in my hair, I’m going to check if his practicing licence is really valid.

In fact, I accidentally consumed more than the recommended dose because I was lazy to use a spoon and drank straight from the bottle. Oops.

Not only did I not get drowsy, my cough is not getting any better. My coughing fits at times can rival a person in his last stages of Tuberculosis.

So now, I sound almost manly. It’s bad for business. I had a few clinics who called me over the past week and they sounded perplexed when I answered. Some thought I was still sleeping (at 1500hrs really?!), while some thought they dialled the wrong number.

In fact, if we played a game where I blindfolded you, and both a transvestite and me spoke, I bet you wouldn’t be able to tell who’s who.

Either that, or I sound like someone who smokes 40 sticks of cigarettes everyday for the past 15 years of my life.

Having insomnia and being sick are not the best combination to have. One person suggested I visited a sleep clinic. I think hitting me on the head with enough impact to knock me unconscious for two weeks will be more fitting.

Let me go find that baseball bat.

xoxoxoxo.

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