Okay, this is how it works. Always carry a list of unsavoury tasks around in your mind, and play them off against one another. For example, right now I'm avoiding doing a sinkful of dirty dishes by working on my bigass editing project. (Well, actually, I'm having a smoke break right now, but you get the picture ( Read more... )

If I don't feel like working, it makes no difference how early I get out of bed.

I figure if I clone myself and give up sleeping and working on newspaper-related stuff entirely, I can have this Sanskrit-laden cookbook edited by its Friday deadline. Barring power cuts and the like. And then I will edit the entire newspaper in, like, a day ( Read more... )

Now New-Age Woman is making up etymology! Because "imagination" and "magus" MUST be related, right? They have the SAME THREE LETTERS!

(I was very nice in my comment, but it's caused a newage backup here, and I think I'm starting to get a headache.)

Current edit: new age self-help workbook. It makes me feel all stabby. Especially when thousands of years of collected knowledge are blithely made out to be a Magic Oriental Exercise specifically designed so that soccer moms can unblock their spiritual constipation ( Read more... )

I just listened to the White House chief of staff attempt to explain the Bush administration's "argument" against funding embryonic stem-cell research, and immediately after that fiasco, I received my latest editing project by email-but it was the wrong one. Again.

Remind me to turn off "provide feedback with sound" in Word when working at night and listening to music through headphones attached to my computer.

So...

4:37 p.m.
Send email announcing that emergency edit has been uploaded; go off and do Other Things, fully expecting a speedy reply letting me know that a full mockup is available for me to red-pencil, especially because I have been told it is "essentially done" and that it has to be all done by tomorrow.

5:40Operation Clusterfuck Avoidance ( Read more... )

I fecking completely took it apart and reconstructed it. Wow, that sucked. Also, I remembered that I had a photo of the "writer," so I just found it and stared at it a bit with EYES of HATE.

Here's me just now, if only I were blonde, curly-haired, and had one of those fifties-style torpedo bras:


( Read more... )

Me, earlier today: "Okay, no one knows how to write, and way to misquote Martin Luther King, and cripes, it's 2:30 and maybe I had better eat breakfast, because I seem to have a headache ( Read more... )