I was sitting here, reading Usenet, looking occasionally at the clock, realizing I ought to be going to bed rather soon. But I didn't really want to sleep. I have a strange biological rhythm lately. So a little forlorn part of my brain, somewhere in the conscience area, was making up reasons why I should turn in. "You have an important interview tomorrow." True. "You have to do a problem set tomorrow and pack for an upcoming trip." True. "You're so completely wrung out that exhaustion has become a normal state, which is why you don't feel any special urge to hit the sack at the moment." True. And finally, in desperation... "The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you'll wake up -- and there'll be *new mail* waiting for you." Good grief. My soul is clearly lost. Will someone please make arrangements for the disposal of this drained, still-typing carcass?
(From the "Rest" of RHF)