On top of everything else I have to do, I am writing a book of my own. The only problem is that all of my other responsibilities have concrete deadlines at which people expect me to deliver the goods; on the other hand, my book has no deadlines. Nobody really expects anything (my dear friend Elizabeth being the key exception). Few people even know about it, and fewer people care.

Noticing this dilemma, my other dear friend Faustus, recommended that I work with his friend Fiona, who lives someplace far away. Fiona is also a writer and, apparently, a rather no-nonsense individual. She agreed to help me set up and, most importantly, enforce deadlines. I was supposed to send her ten pages yesterday, but this is where things started to go horribly wrong. Aside from finishing up the last page for Fiona (I had already written nine), I was also to attend a "V" party that evening, for which I was told I needed to leave home at 4:30.

Allow me to explain that a "V" party is not anything so thrilling as some new kind of drug experience or sexual romp; it is where five gay men, who are essentially geeks at heart, get together and watch the 1980s-era television miniseries "V" on DVD. Few who know him will be surprised to learn that Faustus was also the mastermind behind this festivity.

At 4:00 yesterday, I was typing up a storm--hoping to get at least partway onto page ten before my departure time of 4:30--when Rob called saying we needed to leave right that minute if we were going to get down to the Battery (the location of the party) on time. I have a half hour, I protested. No, you don't, he replied. So I dashed off the an email to Fiona, explaining that I needed to leave earlier than expected for an event involving Faustus, snacks, and reptilian aliens disguised as humans.

As nearly all events involving Faustus also feature the other two components, I found it a rather plausible excuse.

As did she. I was granted an extension.