(no subject)
I'm so overwhelmed at work, I've decided not to do my work. Instead I'm going to waste time writing on my live journal and thinking about how I'm going to have to stay late and do my work all week long. I have manuscripts coming in, launch (the big company meeting when you tell everyone and their dog about your books that you intend to publish in Fall of 2005) and rejections piled up to the top of my itty bitty office. But oh, I've so obviously neglected my live journal over the past week, so it's necessary that I sit here and bemoan my fate to cyber space. I hate my writers, I hate my boss and I hate the fact that I have to get up in the morning with my stomach full of dread. I passed a ski shop this morning (as I do every morning) and thought 'I wonder if I'd have anxiety if I worked in a ski shop.' I like my job because it sounds exciting and substantial when you tell people about it at cocktail parties.
"So what do you do in this world to contribute to societ?"
"Oh, ya know, I publish books." Which sounds like "I contribute cultural relavence to this world." But what it actually means is "I am the cause for the depletion of the rain forest. I engage in self indulgence masquerading as art, but it's not because art has to be seen to exist and nobody reads hence I contribute little more than waste to this society (and let's not even talk about the TYPE of books I publish)."
I would contribute more is I pushed coffee at Starbucks. But I wouldn't receive that delightful twinkle in a strangers eye when I say "oh, I'm a book editor."
Now I'm off to make corrections in a manuscript that actually never got to an author because are mailmen are one step above retarded monkeys.
"So what do you do in this world to contribute to societ?"
"Oh, ya know, I publish books." Which sounds like "I contribute cultural relavence to this world." But what it actually means is "I am the cause for the depletion of the rain forest. I engage in self indulgence masquerading as art, but it's not because art has to be seen to exist and nobody reads hence I contribute little more than waste to this society (and let's not even talk about the TYPE of books I publish)."
I would contribute more is I pushed coffee at Starbucks. But I wouldn't receive that delightful twinkle in a strangers eye when I say "oh, I'm a book editor."
Now I'm off to make corrections in a manuscript that actually never got to an author because are mailmen are one step above retarded monkeys.