Alone and Unobserved

Is that fact that I am completely unable to sleep right now the fault of

1. My heart, which is currently playing a never-ending drum solo in my chest?
2. The wind that keeps blowing, the floor that keeps creaking and/or the cars that keep passing in the street outside?
3. The delicious, sixteen-ounce coffee-based drink I had for lunch, which did not keep me from sleeping through my afternoon classes, and which cannot POSSIBLY still be affecting me, fourteen hours later?
4. That torture I visit upon myself twice weekly, known as “Pilates,” and spoken of only in a hushed, terrified whisper—if at all—which has reduced my usually manly and robust physique to quivering jelly, and made it impossible for me to sit or lie comfortably in any position?

OR

5. The horrific auditions I’ve watched on American Idol over the past few weeks (thanks to the magic of DVR, which is turning out to be a technology with a very dark side), which I will never be able to erase from my mind, and which I will in fact be forced to relive every time I close my eyes for the rest of my short, tortured life?

You decide.