I'm sitting at my desk right now, muttering to myself like a schizophrenic. I believe my exact words were, "Okay, okay, come on, come on." I have this article to write - in fact, I've had it to write for over a month now - and I've got all of 3 measley paragraphs.
It's a balmy 45 degrees (Farenheit), so I'm wearing a thin cable knit sweater, and figured I'd cas it up with jeans - after all, I do work at a magazine. I'm hip, I'm with it.
Turns out the big boss from Colorado (aka, the overseer), who laid off about 50 people yesterday, is coming in today with his right-hand woman. This is probably the wrong time to be dressed down. And I'm over here with an article unwritten. I'm gonna totally get fired for wearing jeans, aren't I?
I'm seriously cracked out. Take, for instance, an excerpt from this morning's first gchat with Jaime (yeah, okay, it's only 9:30 and I'm already procrastinating. what of it?):
me: what is this show?!
my crush greg or my (not) crush tim?
Jaime: no, Brandon Gates
duh
me: SO MANY CRUSHES
WHO IS THAT PERSON?
BRANDON GATES
ALL CAPS
me: ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME
INTENSITY
What the hell is wrong with me? Who are these crushes? Why am I dressed like I'm hitting the streets when the overseer is due in any second? Why on earth would I blog on the plantation at such a delicate time? I'm a hot ass mess today.
1 comment:
girl please, u've been more productive than the majority of Americans who work. write something cruddy, then edit it to perfection. cuz really ur cruddy writing is still damn good
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