Why am I edgy as an eggshell?

Am I doomed to be a tragic desperado my whole life? Am i normal? Or am i mad - if I'm not, why am i being kept awake at night by a hyperactivee geriatric chinchilla and indecent visions of Garth Stingecombe wearing his dad's Brintey Spears boxer shorts?

What it all comes down to is this: will I ever actually do it?