Apparently, because I am following a therapist’s advice and reinforcing a sensible bedtime and sleeping pattern, I should go get “assessed for Aspergers Syndrome”.

Why? Well, because “the whole rigid routine thing is symptomatic of autistic spectrum stuff”.

Oh… Wait… You mean the ‘rigid routine’ that I haven’t had in two whole years? That ‘rigid routine’…?

I’ve had depression. Managing sleep properly is a useful tool in combating it and it’s consequences. That is fact, you dick, so do not patronise me as though you know better.

The “Dan” sign - the creation that has travelled the country with me, met many people and hung on many different walls - is no more.

Farewell, my loyal and faithful companion.

Double fuck. Coronation Street is even fucking closer to home. Makes for uncomfortable viewing :|

Fuck. Eastenders was a bit close to home tonight.

… Jim Parsons is gay!?!

Ohhh this makes me happy, happy, happy.

And my love for the Big Bang Theory has just quadrupled!

Thank you Mr Parsons!

… I’ve just watched C4’s “My Big Fat Fetish”.

They’re ‘gainers’, apparently.

Of everything but self-respect, it would seem.

I’m really just incredibly pleased that “that sorta thing” isn’t my fetish.

There can only be one explanation for the way crumbs, fluff and other debris ends up all over my duvet… That there is some kind of isolated weather cycle within my room which draws said debris up from the floor, forms an invisible cloud above the bed and deposits it all over me as I sleep.

Pre-shit-ipation. It’s fucking unreal.

Team America. Fuck yeah!

(P.S Everyone has AIDS! AIDS AIDS AIDS!)

The fucking Sky box has fucked again and I can’t have fucking subtitles.

I don’t need fucking subtitles, but my surround-sound is fucking loud sometimes and I wanna be fucking considerate.

Unlike my fucking Sky+ box.

My bedroom is overrun with fucking little moth-things. I’m beginning to regret opening my window last night.

… Nervous now.