While I’m onto doleful musings about writing, here’s another one: I lead a double life, demanding that writers meet their deadline as an editor, shamelessly over-running mine own deadlines as a writer. So, I get angry at Jonah when he misses his, and then turn around—as I did last week—and deliver a Washington Post Outlook piece 6-7 hours late? I’d like to think because I expend so much energy trying to get Jonah to honor his deadline that I can’t meet mine—but it’s not the case. The only thing worse than sinking into the couch, is sinking into the couch over deadline…