I don't teach (brrr... been there, posed that), and funnily enough it's 'books to write' that's keeping me up. I forgive your pp, I had a bomb go off in me nine years ago after my mum died, and during the explosion I got an entire novel dumped in my cortex over the space of three days (a deeply weird experience on all fronts). I'm still trying to work out whether I'm supposed to write it, and I'm still writing and writing and unwriting it, and of course it just keeps showing itself as more and more autobiographical, as the young protagonist meets and falls in love with a young man, and then a young woman, both of whom turn out to be children of Orpheus (for which some blame rests at the feet of Neil Gaiman). Trouble is, I've got more and more impatient with this chap and how he lets himself be pushed aroiund, so everything keeps shifting.
My bomb was a cosmic joke - for 10 days I was a bodhisattva, and then it took me a while to get the joke, which was: shhh... it's impermanent. you may tell me about yours if you wish - I have a glass of wine even if you don't.