Brain chemistry is still not my friend

I stayed up very late at a party last night.  As usually happens, I failed to remember that after midnight I turn in to a pumpkin.  A moody, self-involved pumpkin. 

If I were Cinderella (a big if, even in the versions that have homicidal doves in the kirkyards) I would be leaving the ball early because I turned in to a beast or something, not because my ride would disappear.