The end, when it comes, is as rapid as a demise in Star Trek. Unable to go back to sleep after the boy woke up coughing. So what to do? Come and update a neglected blog and tuck into the newly acquired box set of Star Trek.
There's a new film out which tells how Capt Kirk, Spock and the gang got together. Well there are must sees and absolutely vital sees.
This could be in the latter category.
I might be able to drag myself to a cinema on Sunday night. Recompense for an odd turn of days. We got back from London and I headed off to the radio station.
I had big plans but they were waylaid when I had to go and do a voiceover. Well there's money in it. Plans for a triumphant surge to promotion were waylaid when the team's star goalscorer injured himself at work.
That meant that for the second match in a row, we started with 10. And unlike the team of a few weeks ago, the one on Saturday night was much better.
When muggins here managed to get crocked, the team went down to 9 and the opponents then scored four goals to win 5-1.
I have veered from exhausted to peeved. But as I said to the missus when I got home, if we can't get a dozen or so people together three games from a possible promotion, then either I'm taking it too seriously or I'm taking it too seriously.
So as I watch Star Trek and nurse my injured left leg, I will channel the competitive edge into solitary exploits like my tennis and rather take each football game as it comes.
Besides, the last time we were in the top flight I missed a load of games as I went to Ghana for the Africa Cup of Nations. In fact it was a good half a dozen games and it took me a few matches after that to get back in the swing.
Have to be fair, can't take it to heart when it suits me.