Last Friday was the end of the term here, and I had all kinds of plans. I started out with dinner and drinks with an old friend whom I haven't seen in some time, and then moved on to dancing and drinks. And a few more drinks. Now, I'm not a big drinker - I don't understand people who willingly tie one on every weekend. I hate nausea and the feeling of being hungover, so much so that, until Saturday, I hadn't actually been hungover since sometime in the early '90s. But Friday night I was ready to drown the considerable stress of the month and have a good time, and I may have had just the teensiest bit too much too drink.
So imagine that you are me, and you get home at around 4am, legs and feet sore from dancing, head still fuzzy (I got a ride from a friend - drink responsibly!), and you collapse into bed. Next, imagine that you are awakened some little while later, while it is still dark out, and that you don't know exactly what woke you but there seems to be a small person in your bed asking you to wake up and "snuggle." So suppose that you, like me, are so sleep-deprived and out of it that you thoughtlessly say, "no."
And the next thing that happens is that the small person - who is very likely there in the first place because he has had a bad dream - begins wailing hysterically and inconsolately at - no exaggeration - the top of his lungs. At something like five in the morning. It is a lot like being at close range to a fire engine siren, and you worry that you will soon be evicted from the building.
And then, after you miraculously manage to get said small person settled back down, the exact same scenario repeats again three hours later.
The More You Know.