(My friend Miss Mary arrived at work one day and found an e-mail waiting for her that I had apparently written at a very un-christian hour. She asked how it was possible for me to exist on such little sleep. Ten minutes later I had an answer ready to go. Fine, this isn't "original" content, but none of you have ever read it before. I dedicate this to Miss Mary, without whom this would not have been written.)

When I was a child, I was fond of torturing bugs. This is not something that I am proud of these days, but there is very little I can do about it now. Anyway, one day I'm delivering my unholy wrath upon God's tinier children when one little beetle stood up on its rearmost legs and screamed, "Wait!"

I was astounded. A talking and upright standing bug? I put my magnifying glass down and asked him to continue.

He told me a very moving story about all the very personal and real problems that my tyranny had caused for the bugs of my backyard. He told me of colonies cleaved in two, of natural balances ruined because I would favor one species over another, of children separated from their mothers. I cried and apologized and asked what I could do.

The little bug told me that all of the bugs of my backyard had pooled together the cost of their souls to purchase three wishes. These wishes would be bestowed upon me IF I would swear an oath to never knowingly and willfully hurt another bug again. This was a no-brainer. I agreed and started to open my mouth to order up some Legos and dynamite and dirty magazines.

But he stopped me. "Beware, o manchild! These are serious, lifelong wishes! Although whatever you wish for will be granted, try not to blow them on silly things." I thought about this for a few minutes and opened my mouth to order up some Legos and dynamite and a hundred naked ladies. Again, he stopped me. "Come back in a month after you've really thought about it."

All month long I thought and thought. It was probably the thinkingest month of my whole life. I was having trouble in school at the time, especially in writing class. I hated writing. There were plenty of good stories on tv about transformers and pee-wee and the dukes of hazard and really, why would anyone need to WRITE a story when there was already so much entertainment available? So when the month was up, I asked the little guy for the ability to write stories.

"Very impressive, little one," he smiled. "That is truly a gift that will serve you well in life. Run along and write."

And I did. I went inside and wrote some of the most amazing stuff an eight-year-old could hope to write. Character development could have used a little work, and my handwriting was atrocious, but it came rather easily. I couldn't wait to get to class and show up everybody.

But I would have to.

Our teacher gave us our assignments and I grabbed my pencil and paper and... NOTHING. I mean, worse than a bad story, just nothing at all. I couldn't do it. I felt scared because I wanted to do well in school, I felt worried that the magic had gone, but mostly I just felt empty.

That afternoon, I quickly flipped my books into my room, headed for the garage, grabbed a can of wd-40 and a lighter, and went straight to the place where the little guy would be. "I'm going to write a story with fire!" I hissed. Doublequick the beetle came. "That was not the bargain! Three wishes! No killing! Remember!"

I was furious. I told him about what happened at school. Then he chuckled and asked about the previous night. I had to concede that I had indeed written freely the night before. "Yes, you got your wish. You wished to be able to write, and now you can. You did not wish to be able to write on command, and so that is not the gift you got. Wishes are tricky. Now, you can wish to be able to write whenever anyone asks you to, but take a little advice first. If you practice, you'll get better. And as you live your life, your head will fill with stories and if you remember them, you will be able to draw on them at any time. Or, you could use one of your two remaining wishes. But I wouldn't recommend that. Think for another month and come back with a worthy wish."

I saw the wisdom of his words, put the combustibles away, and went on about my life.

That weekend, my parents had a party. I loved it when they had guests over because that was my chance to shine. I was a precocious youth- smart for my age, loved the spotlight, and (if I say so myself) entirely worthy of every morsel of attention and praise heaped upon me. Problem was, I'd get tired early. My parents never needed to worry about telling me it was time to go to bed because without fail I was about to fall over by nine or so. It sucked. I would have stayed up all night eating up accolades if I could. And the next morning it hit me- that would be my next wish. I would wish to be able to stay up as late as anybody. Later, even. But I wouldn't get tricked like with the writing thing. No. So I thought about what the catch would be and the best I could come up with was that I'd be very tired the next day. So now it was just a question of enduring a few more weeks of early sleeping.

The day came and I made my wish- stay up as late as I want and not be exhausted the next day. Ha! The beetle was very impressed that I had thought things through. "You're a smart little boy. I think this whole staying up late thing may be kind of wasteful now, but it will certainly serve you well later in life. Come back when you're ready for your third wish."

I didn't have a chance to test my new power right away, but a few weeks went by and we went to my aunt's house. It was going to be great. I'd stay up as late as the grown-ups, dazzling them with my wit and charm until the wee hours. But the wish was not all I had hoped for.

I choked. I didn't have a thing to say. Where was my funny? Where were my insights? I had nothing! All I could do was sit and listen and be a dull little kid. I stayed up until I was told to go to bed. And that pissed me off, because I wasn't tired. There was fussing and eventually some punishment and all I could do was fume. That damned bug got me again.

I never went back to see that fellow. It has been more than twenty years, and every time I think of some wish that seems absolutely perfect I remember that there's going to be some lame, niggling little facet that I won't have thought of that's really only going to make things suck a little bit more. However, I do have the ability to churn out a story and I can stay up crazy-assed late and still get up for work in the morning. I just can't write if someone asks me to (just as you didn't ask for all of this) and no matter how late I stay up, I'm not going to be mister personality.

And that's the answer to "HOW DO YOU EXIST ON VERY LITTLE SLEEP?"