Hamster wheel

Will someone please tell the rabid little hamsters in my brain that these are the hours we use for sleeping, not for working? That I actually need a few hours of sleep before I can do all the importantly important URGENT URGENT things they are yelling at me about in their tinny little voices?

So much to do, so much to do, they fuss fussily at me as they consult their rodenty little PDAs and furiously tap at them with their tiny little PDA tapsticks.

Mustn't forget, mustn't forget, they mutter feverishly, nervously patting their tidy little hamster up-do's, where they have tucked six or seven sharpened number two pencils in case of any sudden emergency that should require passing out a sufficient number of sharpened number two pencils.

Are you getting this down? they whisper crossly as they cross to and fro from ear to ear, from back of skull to front. Tsk, tsk, they only barely let me hear, what would you do without us?

All would be lost, all lost, reply the mice taking dictation in the secretary pool, chattering away on their laptops and shaking their pointy little heads with their sorrowful, reproving pointy little faces on them.

Great, I mumble in the back of my throat, where the tickle of their pacing has begun to penetrate, since you're taking care of all that, can I maybe get some sleep?

TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK they all erupt in cacaphonous unison, clacking all the more furiously at their keypads, tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk...