When that final "Written And Directed By George Lucas" appeared, I wanted to stand the fuck up right there and throw my arms around the girl I wished had been there too, maybe kissed her even, since fuck it, this is a glorious moment in our cinema-going lives, and if I get a slap in the yap and a cutting rebuttal, at least for a second I was kissing her whilst that score was stirring every cinematically inclined fibre in my being well beyond their collective capacities for being stirred.

I would've roared and clapped and hollered, but I heard the fella a bit behind me attempt to start some applause, and I could feel the cynical patronizing sneers scourging his guts out, so I didn't. But I felt it too, man. I wanted to cheer right alongside you. Was it because I really thought the flick was more cheer-worthy than, say, The Woodsman, or was it because folks don't cheer at The Woodsman regardless of its quality, they cheer at Star Wars? Didn't you see the documentaries with the fucker out Happy Days yacking about "Wow, gee howdy, first time I saw Star Wars I cheered myself blue in the balls alright"?

But know that I would've cheered, had I been in a roomful of similar cheerers, and not just one cheerer a bit behind me who, it must be said, offered only a half-hearted kinda apologetic slap of the palms, and not really much of a cheer at all.

But regardless of their outward apathy, I knew everybody here was as enraptured as me, even the fellas outside who were yacking about "He should've had someone better than General Grievous. Maybe the black and white one from The Clone Wars" and the other fella said "The woman?" and the first fella said "No, no, the black and white one". I suppressed the desire to scream "She was a fucking woman! Just accept that the coolest Sith motherfucker in The Clone Wars was a woman, you chauvinist hound! Your patriarchal fantasies are crashing around your feet at this very minute, I dare say!" Even those fellas, I knew, adored every second.

And I had a big grin on my face like the grin a man might grin when leaving a brothel at four in the morning high on the whiskey-cracks and shagged delirious, except even better, since, most likely, I wouldn't wake up with a headful of suicidal torment and a void to the south of the soul.

Episode VI - Attack Of Insomnia

Thing is, I didn't wake up at all, since I didn't sleep, since my head decided I'd had plenty sleep these past few years, so fuck it, I'll just do a whole shit-load of really noisy thinking while you toss an turn in some sleep-starved fever.

Before this though, text messages had to be sent.