Your brain at night doesn't know the law. It has no desire but to keep you warm and fuzzy and at rest in its normal sleeping position. That's laying down. Whether or not it's on your bed, someone else's, or the floor of a jail cell is up to your conscious behavior.

Being sick is stupid. I've traded off between DayQuil and NyQuil, chicken soup and a half-gallon of orange juice. And I only feel marginally better.

I do not understand why, after a few drinks, some loud music and electronic fractals of light, someone decides to clench their fist, pull back and drive until contact with skin, soft tissue or bone.