2:14 a.m. So today I was all set to really buckle down and get a lot -- I mean a whole lot -- of writing assignments done. All at once. Let's see. This is me we're talking about. The world's biggest procrastinator, the most slovenly writer on the face of the earth. The worst excuse for a ...

... when suddenly I just ran out of words. I must have used them all up when I was scrabbling around trying to put my weekly contribution to World Year into shape. I'd already written on the topic of big hairy types sitting in front of the TV while the more ... delicate ... of our countrymen were enjoying the joy and pleasure of the Wimp's Holiday.

So of course I had to find another way to write about the very same situation. My stockpiles of brute/milksop descriptive verbiage was running frightfully low.

To make matters worse, I also had an article due for Metajournals, and I was trying to make it, Lord help me, comprehensive. That's always a bad idea. I won't go into too much detail and thus ruin your fun of reading a fresh, new Metajournals issue when it comes out, but suffice it to say that the topic I was slaving over was ... what do you call it when it's already been done, and done to death?

See? The bottom of the barrel is being scraped here. So I joked to one of the journal lists (and yes, I knew I was using up my scarce supply of bon mots) that I could sure use a cup of words ... and then I went off ... and did what writers always do when the reserves are running low: I took a nap.

Imagine my joy when I checked my mailbox! The good-hearted and Photoshop-savvy Fiona has saved my sorry self! I now have some bright shiny new words to work with. To whit:

Well, ok. So it's a little exotic, and yeah ... I had to look it up. But I couldn't resist trying it right out and as is always the way when you're experiencing something new, it just disappeared. Like magic.

That left me with

and

both of which I needed for some email that I had on the back burner which was threatening to dry up for lack of substance. I figured I'd better be more careful with the rest of them, so I've tucked

and

away for when I need the high quality pizazz that you can only get with multisyllabicity. You never know when your next assignment will call for that nutty, chewy, stick-to-your-cranium soundbite.

Yikes! I'm running out again. I'm going to need

for the proposal I'm supposed to be working on for a Monday deadline. You can't go wrong with it if you're trying to raise some dough ... it's very yeasty. Both men and women like it. And of course, as luck would have it, I can't bear to part with

because it's so small and cuddly, and I'm just going to have to prop it up here on my desktop to keep me company. It's too cute to give away.

And you know where this is leading, don't you? My last remaining bit of verbiage must now be pressed into service for the thank-you note that I'm going to send to Fiona.

It's how I feel to live in times like these. Times that allow me to have such friends as she. I must say, I am