It’s the last day of my expansive vacation, in which I saw many exotic things, such as Chapel Hill. Continue reading “June’s stay-at-home vacation. Annoying morning readers, since Monday.”
Thursday, August 3, 2017
6:30 a.m.: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.
6:39: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.
7:33: OH MY GOD. SERIOUSLY? Scream out of bed, dash to shower. Wash hair.
We curly people don’t wash our hair every day. Many of us have a concoction we create in dollar spray bottles purchased at Target. The concoction contains water and lavender oil. Or water and conditioner. Or water and gel. Or water, conditioner, gel and flax seed. Or whiskey.
Some of us have had all of those iterations in our spray bottle from Target. We spray our hair, scrunch it, and go the whole day with our hair looking like shit.
Since I’d had Bernie from Room 222 hair all week, and current references for four decades, yesterday was an actual wash-and-start-over day.
7:45: Put hair in careful microfiber towel for curly people, make coffee, feed animals, go outside with Edsel to watch him pee, as is required by law, lest you deal with a dog who will not go outside ALL DAY, and who hovers near you underbitedly wishing it be tyme to go out and watch Edzul pee alreddy cause he relly haff to go.
7:50 Begin blogging.
9:01: OH MY FUCKING GOD HOW IS IT ALREADY–
9:02: Throw on anything, pop in contacts, pour more coffee, scream out door. Catch reflection in car mirror.
Hair still completely soaked.
9:05–9:11: Drive to work with sunroof open and all windows down. Get to work and glance in mirror.
Hair still completely soaked.
9:12: Turn on computer hurriedly, glance at boss to see if he’s absorbed in work and not noticing lateness (NEWS ALERT: Boss is always absorbed in work), begin five-article project you promised another team that you were supposed to start the day before but were too busy.
9:13: PING! New deadline assigned.
9:14: PING! New deadline assigned.
9:15: PING! New deadline ass–
WHAT THE FUCK.
At work, we have software that, once your part of the task is completed, you check off a box and the next person in line gets an automatic email saying it’s their turn and with a deadline for their part.
Often, for some efficient reason, these deadlines are mythical, so the person before you will then email you personally to say, “Really, this has to be done tomorrow at noon.”
9:16: PING! New deadline assigned.
9:17: PING! New–OH STOP.
Then I started getting the personal emails. Hey, June, don’t make it bad. Take a sad article, and make it better.
In half an hour, I had 11 new assignments. Eleven. I won’t get 11 in a week sometimes. Those were followed up by “These deadlines are legit” emails from the editor before me.
9:30–12:30: Begin work on the 11 new deadlines, ignoring the five articles you still have to do for the other team. Get one done.
12:31: Realize you haven’t peed. In bathroom, glance at self.
Hair is still completely soaked.
12:35–1:30: Drive home, let Edsel out, stand watching Edsel pee as is required by law, realize you’re standing blankly thinking about all that you need to do back at work. Eat something that’s 15 Weight Watchers points (Amy’s Organic 3 Cheese and Kale) because there’s no time to think about thawing a chicken breast right now and that 15-point concoction is right there smiling at you kale-ly from the freezer.
1:37: Return to work, begin slaving on those five articles.
2:09: Email, “Is there any way you can get those articles done early?
2:10: Email from another team: “Did you forget you were going to proof our presentation today?”
3:00: Party for leaving coworker. Everyone heads to conference room to celebrate, except you and your boss. Boss has as much and very likely lots more to do. You sigh, pound your hands on desk, throw head back in annoyance, swear, and at one point, glance over at boss. He’s calmly typing, absorbed in work.
3:11: During yet another dramatic sigh and head throwback, glance down at boss, who is typing and sipping water calmly, like he’s on a meditation retreat or something.
“HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM?”
“I internalize everything,” says boss, never looking over at you and your still-soaking-wet hair.
‘That’s why you will have seven heart attacks one day.”
Boss finally looks over. “If you have so much to do, why are you talking to me?”
“What’s the point of you being the only person here if I can’t complain to you?”
3:12: Feel like boss is 100% over you.
4:50 p.m.: Person who asked if you’d do the five articles for her, and then if you can do them early, comes over. She is a good sort of a person. Have commiserative talk about how busy everything is, discuss who has cried at work today, smile wanly at each other and continue.
6:35 p.m.: Four of the five articles are done. Sure, there are the 10 others, and that presentation you forgot and have to do Saturday, but four of the five articles are done.
6:37: See The Poet in parking lot. Have commiserative talk. Realize Poet leaves every day at this time, then goes home and writes deep poetry. Realize Poet never once throws head back dramatically at desk.
6:40: Glance at self in mirror of car. Hair has dried into a ‘do not unlike Gene Wilder’s.
6:52: Plunk bag of carrots next to work computer (see above ref to 15-point kale) and begin freelance work.
8:30: Try to stop freelance work.
8:32: Feel too squirrelly about stopping now, when you could finish this whole project tonight.
8:52: Get email from woman at work who you did four our of five articles for. “I hope people tell you how much you’re appreciated.” Smile warmly at email. Coworker is good soul who never writes things like THANKS!! : ). Coworker writes in English. Coworker is bomb.
10:20: Finish current freelance assignment. Email Tank the Miracle Angel Baby, whom you’re working with on said freelance gig, to tell him. “That’s great!” he writes back. “We have one that’s five times as long as that one that we plan to get to you Tuesday.”
10:21: Mentally count dollars. Mentally tell self that if you can’t drive with broken back, at least you can polish fenders.
P.S. I forgot the good news, that at lunch, while I was staring blankly at Edsel, I also called my bank and set up a savings account, an account they will automatically add a certain amount to every 15th and 31st, an account I cannot access with my ATM card. Am practically Suze Orman. Plans to smile manically under corporate haircut and tell you all YOU can’t afford it, appearing forthwith.
Yesterday was a ridiculous day, from my series of June’s Ridiculous Days. Continue reading “When a broken purse is the least of your woes”
Is there anything worse than someone insisting they have an old soul? I believe you misheard: You’re not an old soul, you’re an asshole. Continue reading “Finding the silver cloud”
I am overwhelmed. Continue reading “Our Lady of Perpetual Calendars”
I don’t want to know about your stupid A-game. What game, anyway? Maybe this is my problem; I don’t know what the game is and why I should be playing it. Continue reading “June’s love for everything continues unabashed”
This weekend I have tons of activities planned.
First of all, before we all up and forget, it’s Steely Dan’s birthday. He is one, according to the estimated birth date the vet gave him back when I first brought him in. I would take a picture of old Steely Dan, but he’s outside tripping the elderly or whatever the hell. Continue reading “I’m in my prime. You are too.”
Even though I have allegedly set it up so that when I plug my phone into my computer–and there’s something anyone said, ever, in 1947–my photos should pop right up, they never do. They USED to. I’ve no idea what’s gone wrong. Continue reading “In real life, vowels are free”
“Hey, June, can you proofread a deck by 2:00? It’s 80 pages.”
A deck is a presentation, usually a PowerPoint one, and there’s another of those two words squished into one with a capital letter in the middle that I like SoMuch. Continue reading “Yore what, I’ll never know.”