Cruel Irony

Though I had every reason to sleep the sleep of angels, I couldn't manage to slumber longer than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. And my dreaming mind seems to like to conjure up the down and dirty for me and then make me feel rotten about it. It's unfair in a disapprovingly parochial way, and it makes no sense that it's all happening in my ordinarily-not-nonplussed-by-such-things mind. Staying in bed at this point is just an act of rebellion. It accomplishes nothing.

Is irony ever not cruel?