Sacred Haven of Debauchery

Oh no, no. This is utterly impossible! If I somehow managed to endure these almost monstrous torments last night, then now I feel how my fragile psyche, already flawed and with some ugly imperfections, begins to break with a dull sound, like a fist hitting the bed, driven by my growing, but alas, completely powerless and meaningless anger. If you ever catch even a hint of Klov's intention to go to sleep without spending the whole night on a forum, in ICQ, playing a computer game, or engaging in any other exhausting activity, immediately stop this madness, because it is turning, as I want to say, into a very nightmarish dream, but in reality, it's just a dull and boring insomnia, which is even more nightmarish than, for example, similar dreams before waking up on a day that is supposed to bring a lot of joy and variety. How can one not hate such a temperature in the room, when the blanket makes the body cry with sweat, but the cold, crawling like spiders on the bare back and legs, completely deprives the mind of any chance to rest and envelop the consciousness with the long-awaited night? Why do the eyes start to slyly close when reading a book and betray you at the very moment when, putting aside that small world that bored you to yawns, you naively hope to immediately fall into sweet oblivion? And then you lie there, bound by your own quick-witted thought, unable to break these bonds and imperceptibly gain freedom.
I'm going to go play some stupid computer game.