Brain: That damp patch on the ceiling.
Me: I know, don’t bring it up.
Brain: What if it’s still leaking?
Me: It’s not, the flat upstairs turned their water off. Stop talking.
Brain: What if they lied?
Me: They didn’t lie. I’m trying to sleep.
Brain: They could have just said that to shut you up.
Me: What can I do to shut *you* up, more importantly?
Brain: I don’t know – you could die, maybe?
Me: Stop talking to me.
Brain: You should check the damp patch in case the ceiling is about to fall in.
Me: It’s 3am. I don’t need to check it, I need to sleep.
Brain: You should check it.
Brain: Check it.
(Gets up, checks, comes back to bed)
Brain: It looked bigger to me.
Me: It wasn’t bigger.
Brain: Yeah, it was bigger.
Me: I just checked it. You were there. We both saw it. It’s not bigger.
Brain: …………. ‘kay.
Me: Christ, is it bigger?
Brain: Don’t ask me, what do I know? You’re the expert.
(Gets up again, checks it, comes back to bed)
Me: Well, now I can’t tell if it’s bigger.
Me: Maybe I should move the sofa. It’s right underneath it. What if it gets damaged?
Brain: Maybe you should move out.
Brain: This isn’t even your house. You’re just renting because you don’t have enough money to look after yourself and buy your own house because you are a failure who doesn’t earn enough.
Me: Don’t give this horror story a soundtrack!!!
Me: No, YOU stop right now, brain of Satan.
Brain: You started it.
Me: I hate you.