If you complain once more, you'll meet an army of me

Here I am, awake at 1:34 a.m.  Can't sleep and my mind is racing with the quirky combination of the "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy, the words to a former American Idol's radio hit, and the query about whether Fanta orange has caffeine in it to explain this waking phenomenon of mine.  The blue glow from the nifty LED nightlight in the bathroom had cast enough shadow on the ceiling fan that, sans glasses, alternated between looking like a massive black tarantula (disconcerting) and a chihuahua with one ear longer than the other.  I have taken a crapload of Benadryl in addition to Lunesta tonight which typically equates into a state just shy of a coma for me, but alas.  Wide awake.  Nothing to be done.

So I thought I'd manage to be productive.  I'd come up and finally grade those papers I've been ignoring all weekend.  Maybe write some fiction.  Perhaps conduct dissertation research.  Balance my checkbook.  Pay bills.  Return emails.  Can you tell I'm hopping right on those things, even at this wee hour.  My brain is too busy even to write this, and it's doing everything but sleeping.