Here I lay, sprawled on my bed at 3:17 AM, woken up by the snores emanating from my own schnozzle that sounded eerily like the sharpening of a machete by a serial killer.

Generally, I sleep like a log, but on nights like this, when I wake up to the sounds coming out not just from my snout, but from every other creak and crevice, my brain goes spinning like a hamster on a wheel with steroids in its system.

My imagination, working in overdrive, acts as cardio for my brain. I need no equipment or expensive gym membership. I simply lie there, awake in the middle of the night, with my mind sprinting like Usain Bolt after three Red Bulls.

As I lay there, all the tenses start to feature in the overthinking flick screening inside my cerebrum in 5-D. The reel plays without a title sequence or opening credits, immediately hooking me into a psychological thriller I never signed up for.

Naturally, the past is the first to arrive on the scene, highlighting some of the most mortifying moments of my life and examining them with the precision of a forensic scientist at a crime scene. I wonder if my mates from class 9 still remember the thunderous fart that I inadvertently let out in front of the entire class, and whether they will bring it up in the next reunion.