Or as I think of it, a dreadline.

To explain, it takes me a year to write a novel, and my deadline just passed, last Monday. Below is a rewind of the week leading up to the deadline, with play-by-play medical updates. Please tell me you've had weeks like this, because poison sumac loves company.

Our story begins on a Monday morning, when my satellite radio stops working. It flashes "Acquiring Signal," even though it isn't. No biggie. On Monday afternoon, my cell phone breaks. It's been dropping calls for a few weeks, but now it won't stay connected to anyone. I don't have time to get another, so I just won't talk on the phone for a week. I have to work anyway.

Poison sumac spreads to look like map of Italy, which suits.

On Tuesday, I'm low on groceries and down to takeout food, so I try to reheat pizza for dinner, but the oven won't go on. All right, no sweat, I can wait a week to get the oven fixed. I eat the pizza cold, which is delicious.

Poison sumac adds islands of Sicily and Sardinia, now geographically correct.

On Wednesday, I'm brewing my 55th cup of coffee and go to get half-and-half from the refrigerator, but when I open the door, the light stays off. The refrigerator is on the fritz, and I notice water pooling on the floor. I can ignore the puddle, but the half-and-half will go bad and I need coffee.

Caffeine and deadline is my longest marriage.

So I call the appliance guys, and luckily the refrigerator guy is in the neighborhood, so he comes and replaces the gasket, whatever that is. I work all night on coffee adrenaline, and by Thursday morning I need breakfast, so I go to the freezer for ice cream.

Yes, you read that right. Ice cream for breakfast. On deadline, I crave sugar. Caffeine, sugar, and me are a threesome.

But when I open the freezer door, a solid block of ice coats the top shelf, and my Haagen Dazs is vanilla soup. I call the appliance guys again, and they tell me the gasket repair caused an air lock, whatever that is. They're not in the neighborhood and will get here when they can. So I drink the ice cream, and it's delicious. In fact, if I had cold pizza to go with my warm ice cream, I'd be in pig heaven.

Also, poison sumac has spread to Italian island of Ischia, which sounds like itchier for a good reason.

On Friday, I'm working and adjusting to the new normal. My house is quiet because the radio stayed mute and the cell phone can't ring. I don't cook in the oven because it doesn't work, and there's no food left in the refrigerator even though it does. I eat things that used to be frozen, like Boca Burgers, which I microwave for lunch and dinner. For breakfast I make toast. For dessert I have microwave popcorn, and it's all delicious. I'm backsliding with carbohydrates, like ex sex.

Carbs join sugar, caffeine, and me for the weekend. We have a deadline orgy.

Poison sumac invades Poland, intending world domination.

Saturday afternoon, my laptop is acting wacky. The monitor seems fainter and I can't read it, so I call my computer guy, who comes over. We use one of my old monitors with the laptop, but that doesn't work, so we replace the laptop with an old computer. This process takes four hours, during which I eat nothing but fingernails, for three more grams of carbohydrates.

Poison sumac marches westward to France. Paris is burning, and so is my chest.

Sunday morning, my throat aches and my tongue is swollen, but I'm fine. It hurts to eat anything, but that doesn't matter because there's nothing to eat. I can't drink, either, but I'm out of coffee and running on bile. I power through to Monday morning, when I finally finish my book.

It's called Think Twice.

But it should be called Poison Sumac Acquires Nuclear Weapons.