on being left awake at my desk all night

no worries, I finished reading my suspense novel and massively updated
my OKCupid profile, had beans and toast at berrill, and several teas, and
am feeling as fresh as eggs and am generally entirely ready to look at my
probation report from a new angle today, which is actually necessary, because,
despite the magnificent proportions that this particular sentence has already
grown to and indeed will grow beyond ere long (as I'm sure you can see quite
plainly in the first instance and moreover, intuit in the second or
possibly greater
instances, whether with a sense of foreboding or incipient pleasure I know not)
and despite, also, the semi-analogous prolixity with which I have hithertofore
enunciated my somewhat, shall we say, scientistic strategems and made known
to those concerned in the matter my various scholarly ambitions (always with
some slight reservations as to just how scholarly they really are -- perhaps too
scholarly in some respects and not enough in others), what's really needed now
is a rather different (although not, if you think about it, an
altogether unrelated)
writerly manoeuver which will, I hope, ensure the general cogency and
dare I say,
fluidity, of my rhetorical argument in the other, aforementioned, semi-formal
research-related document, as it coalesces into its final form, by infusing it
throughout with the radiant energies of a certain
mystico-philosophical principle,
namely, that of pure creativity as the sensation associated with engagement
within a libidinal economy; which, in short, is exactly what I feel
prepared to deliver
in my present frame of mind, if only I can find the words with which
to express it --
perhaps simply put it would be something along the lines of "it feels
good to do stuff",
which sentiment one might readily adduce to what is called either wakefulness or
fatigue, as two now predictably different names for activity within an
inhomogeneous
field seeking to further differentiate itself within itself.