It's 2:40 am and I don't know what I'm doing. Read The Tempest, whiled away sleepless time well past my usual hour; some soft music playing, a conversation, a game of free cell, a packet of sweet-salty chips. Fit of inspiration (also of madness) to be doing this. Guilt, and other things. No words or witticisms come to mind. Just an itch to touch these keys. That's all.
