No rest for the weary.

My phone rang early Sunday morning and I picked it up from the chair in which I was sleeping. It was my friend Tawana.

I'm usually up early of my own volition, and whether I'm up or not, she typically calls by around 6 am. And just so you know--she's no more early bird than I, but she lives in a different time-zone.

"Why aren't you up? she said. "It's almost EIGHT O'CLOCK."

"Arghh. I'm recovering from the threes."

"Oh," she said, "that's rough."

Tawana invented the concept of the threes: waking and staying that way any time between 3:00 and 3:59 am--guaranteed to suck the will to live right out of you the next day. Commonly, regularly, and woefully experienced by all women of a certain age. But most of us figure, "Well, I'm up anyway; I may as well get something accomplished."

"So," she asked, "what did you do?"

"Let's see--I cut out a purse pattern and then I blogged for a bit," I said. "Cute purse, too."

"No, you didn't."

"Pardon?"

"You did not blog last night. I've already been on there this morning, and it's still showing the same tired excuse for a post that was up all day Saturday."

This is what happens. Post half a dozen times, and you're CNN.

[A note to my mom about the above sentence fragment: Saw it. Meant to do it.]