11:32 p.m. A hazy, lazy day after the day after Christmas. There's a whole party to talk about and download and share and discuss, but not tonight.

Tonight I am nearly asleep at the keyboard, full to the brim with eggnog from the dairy case.

There is no deadline clock of any kind ticking.

Adrenaline has left my system and I am a rag, a washcloth, a limp sock that fell from the basket.

I can barely lift my copy of Vanity Fair, with which I will now take a meeting.

Under the covers, between the sheets ... total bliss.

Real life will resume in just 12 hours or so.