But there it is. From the depth of your sleeping bag you know that that stew and all that liquid you drank are not going to let you sleep through the night. It's been dark for hours. You'll never make it until seven the next morning. You resign yourself to the inevitable and struggle upward out of downy warmth.
Boots go back on, then gaiters.
You search for your flashlight. Finally you're plunging through the snow into the trees, toilet paper in hand. Well, you think, you're just glad you're not camped above treeline someplace with the wind howling down on you. You painfully recall such a time when, at the crucial moments, the toilet paper was whisked away in a blast that nearly flattened you. You're back in your sleeping bag again, thoroughly chilled from being out.