Completely Self-Referential Post in 10...9...8...

You know you have found your people when you find yourself the victim of a singing telegram deliberately delivered offkey and at an inordinately loud level, followed by a dramatic retelling of that classic Greenwich hit, "Three Girls -- Trapped! On a Giant Bed! -- One Lion." Thanks, Jules and Ets. Only 10 more days until I see you crazy girls.

And only 2 more days until Nepalese human rights violations are coupled with brownie sundaes (thanks, Dorothy, for the heads up).

Forty-eight more hours until a morning full of coffee with the Right Honorable David Grimaldi, a meeting regarding the Interfaith Dinner ("I'll be wearing a Red Sox cap"), and lunch at Johnny Rocket's with everyone's favorite study group, the Respondeat Superiors.

Twenty-four more hours until I can settle into my weekend of quiet New England pastimes -- documentary-watching, apple picking, paper research, outlining, catching up on written correspondence (Jenny! Mere Mere! Mom! Karly! Aimee! The list! Goes on! And on!) and a few transatlantic phone dates.

Six more weeks until a certain rough draft is handed in.

And best of all, six weeks, 22 hours, and roughly 8 minutes until I come home to find this little bugger curled up on my bed, napping off the jetlag...which means, as I'm sure you realize, that I will be decommissioned and fully out of the public arena until six weeks, three days from now. Mark your calendars. No exceptions.