Filthily depraved uptempo conundrum

You know that you have been listen­ing to too much music when you find your­self pon­der­ing which song, out of a two-way choice between Sex Dwarf by Soft Cell (“lur­ing disco dol­lies to a life of vice”) or Sex Beat by The Gun Club (“we can fuck forever but you will never get my soul”), would provide the most suit­able accom­pani­ment to the depraved act itself.

Then, of course, once you find your­self won­der­ing along such lines, there are all the sup­ple­ment­ary ques­tions about pace and tempo, not to men­tion the pre­ferred musical tastes of your part­ner. Sleazy Amer­ican punk or per­ver­ted elec­tronic dance music? Oh, you decide, darling. I’ve sud­denly got one of my head­aches com­ing on.

Some­times I think too much. Wor­ry­ingly so.

We regret to inform you that Dr Freud will not be under­tak­ing any con­sulta­tions this after­noon. Besides, he doesn’t see the point in this par­tic­u­lar case, since the patient is dis­play­ing a def­in­ite lack of sub­con­scious sug­ges­tion that is con­trast­ing wildly with other psy­cho­lo­gical pre­oc­cu­pa­tions that are almost dis­turb­ingly self-evident. Nurse, the screens.

I blame caf­fein­ated over­in­dul­gence for everything. Abso­lutely everything. Obvi­ously. Maybe I should abstain for a day or two. From the cof­fee, I mean; noth­ing else. No, def­in­itely noth­ing else.