My internal clock is all sorts of screwed up. Monday afternoon, I flew home after 10 days in California, so I'm still firmly on West coast time. Since my arrival in the Garden State, I have unpacked, had dinner with my sister-in-law and the crazies, gone through 10 days of mail, gone to the bank, paid the bills, ripped the 21 used CDs I bought at Amoeba while in SF onto my laptop and downloaded them onto my iPod, made a brief stop in the office, spent two hours at the hair salon, had dinner with my parents, watched the Mets piss away a game to the Phillies, watched TiVoed episodes of Rescue Me, Entourage and My Boys, written a column, done laundry and repacked.

Why the frenetic pace?

Because in four hours, a driver will be at my door to take me back to my home-away-from home, EWR. And thanks to my body's inability to recognize it is back in the Eastern time zone, I am wide awake.

Many times, people hear about my travel schedule and say, "I don't know how you do it."

For once, I might agree with them.