What I want to know is, Why do brains pull this shit? Why? Don't they have anything better to do?
Now that I'm awake, and my brain has shut up, I've returned to being nervous about the Milton talk in an entirely reasonable way, as in: Let the thing sit on the shelf for a week; then reread it and decide if it's clear, includes enough supporting detail, makes relevant assertions, allows enough time for the participants to discuss the poem, but doesn't permit distracted patter to kidnap the topic and carry it off onto a deserted island to be eaten by snakes.
I'm so irritated with that night brain of mine. You'd think it would have my best interests at heart. But no.