Late-Night Rantings

The setup: Being suddenly asked to do two overnight shifts at work...overtired and undernourished, you approach each night differently: the first with a tall, skinny aluminum can in your hand, the second without. The following are entries I wrote in my workbook during my breaks each night:
Tuesday Night:
I was expecting a terrible taste, for so it had been reported to me by friends who'd long-since grown accustomed to the drink and its effects. Imagine my delight when, not only did it taste fine (a little strong and sharp), but upon my first swallow a tingle ran through my body. Already I was more awake! I swallowed some more, realizing that I truly was going to make it through the night.
Funny thing, however...each sip seemed to dissolve in my tongue and cheeks, leaving very little to actually swallow.
And about halfway through the can, my heart began to hurt. Coincidence? I think so. But I realized that I would probably never be as sweet as some guys I know who have been known to go over the daily recommended dosage (500 mL) in twelve hours. Besides, the last thing the residents need is some bouncy, hyper chick waking them up with her dance steps echoing throughout the house.
Still half a can to go. I'd better ration what's left...I need to stay awake and efficient for at least six and a half more hours.
Sometimes, the way the cat meows at me makes me nervous. Like she knows or sees something I don't.
If there are any sudden, loud noises tonight, I'm fairly certain I'll suffer some kind of serious shock. *
Okay, it's 4:30 and the Red Bull has worn off. I'm ready to crash, even though my heart rate is still elevated.

*Later that night, while sweeping outside one resident's door, she let out the loudest, snarliest, suddenest cat-like noise I'd ever heard. Pretty sure I almost fell against the wall and couldn't breathe for a second.

Wednesday Night:
There once was a squirrel in a tree
who threw all his acorns at me.
I threw them all back, hit his head with a smack;
now no one's as nutty as he.

The driver was making me fume,
so I shouted at him words of doom.
Without saying a word,
he flipped me the bird
and took off with a triumphant zoom.

The chickens were clucking away,
not knowing that this was the day.
They each lost their head,
every last one was dead,
and so never again would they play.

A limerick is fun late at night
when your mind is no longer too bright.
They're dumb little rhymes,
but they sure pass the time
till your second wind finally takes flight.

And now it is time I should go--
for as they say, "on with the show".
I must mop the floor-
oh, what a great bore!
At least I'm not shovelling snow.

There you have it...late night brilliance. May you be inspired.