January 20, 2005

Dear Mr. Bush,

A short note before going to sleep after my second day of too many hours awake, working both nights until I literally can't see straight. It's not safe for me to drive myself back home at this point--the snow and my exhaustion are not a good combination--so sleep will come bent and crowded onto the office couch, my right hip sure to ache like an old man's by the time I wake, my throat sure to burn from breathing the dusty, cold office air.

I've been doing my job for almost eleven years now, Mr. Bush, and it never gets easier. There is always some new crisis, some new mistake, some new roadblock to getting the job done. But somehow, thanks to the Herculean effort of far too few people, it gets done anyway. With three days before we're through with the latest issue, the end may be in sight, but I'll be damned if I know how to get there.

After two entire days of inauguration parties and ceremonies, I'm sure you're as tired as I am--though I bet your sleeping accommodations are better.

Sleep well,



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