Deadline, that is. This morning, an editor at the Post‘s Sunday magazine was supposed to have a lovely, clean draft of a 4,000-word article by me, from me, in her basket. I’m only about half done. Blog’s going to have drift. Keep trying to clone myself so I can do my job _and_ everything else. The results of the clone experiments are quite horrible and always die. I keep them in formaldehyde jars in the lab. They taunt me.