Which I always am. Now I know, I know, I'm old, I should be sleeping lots, but hell, who has the time? (T is also for time, though there's less of that than of the fatigue). I'm already spending hours of downtime when there's so much to do.
Ach, but for my own laziness. Sometimes I can't do what I need to, what I ought to, what I want to. I wind up just curling up with a book, a friend, a daydream, and nothing gets accomplished. So I stay up a little later, and get a little more tired.
And even sleep, when it comes, is no friend. Either I'm tossing and turning (two more terrific T words) because I'm worried, or feeling like there's something missing, something undone, something that I should be doing besides lying there on the couch, wishing the arms were real and listening to Mulder pontificate on dvd all night.... Or, coma city, baby--I go til I drop in the traces (which begins with....you got it, T! *L*) and then I'm done. Can't function, can't do anything. Just out like death for a few hours, rejuvenating, I guess, getting ready for the next round of writing, reading, posting, printing, cleaning, cooking, working, coffee-ing, hosting, singing (well, not in public) dancing, all that good stuff that makes life worth living.
If I didn't have to sleep. Where's the Sleepless docs from Vietnam when you need them? Sure, hallucinations and a bad case of red eye, but hell, you get to live two lifetimes.

I'd probably still be tired....