Late night sore throat

I fell asleep about three hours ago, after starting Colson Whitehead's The Intuitionist; I was dreaming about having a gardening conversation with an architect I work with down in Berkeley when was slumber was interrupted. I swallowed and felt those pins in the back of my throat that pop up every once in a while, usually after a long stretch of hard work or a seasonal change. The timing is odd though: I'm right in the middle of a few projects at work, not to mention my research paper for my class and especially my self-imposed reading list, and the weather isn't even changing. I took a handful of advil with a large glass of orange juice and sat down at the computer to find that my formerly incredibly literary and verbose blog had degenerated into a gallery of pirated pictures and not-even-book-reviews. The question is, do I attempt to remedy the situation of this site at 2 am (with maybe a short review on the newly re-opened Virginia Inn) or do I return to my bed and pick up with the tale of opposing factions of elevator repair people (The Empiricists and the Intuitionists)? If it were any other book, I may have expounded on the virtues and disappointments of the "new" Virginia Inn (the soup and the 'kinda going upscale - well, not really upscale but just not as dingy as what I fell in love with' atmosphere, respectively) but that book is calling me from the other room.