Yesterday at work I went back to copy editing. I asked if I could do so some months ago, and they said okay, but you have to wait till we get other editors in here, so I waited, and then without further ado or fanfare, it was all, "Can you copy edit this?" and by the end of the day I'd copy edited three and a half articles and three decks. I know that might mean nothing to you, but trust me, that's a lot.
Oh my GOD, it was wonderful. I didn't have one meeting to go to all day! Now, today, I have to write again, so it's a gradual process, but oh it was nice to see my old friend the AP Stylebook, and worry about spaces before ellipses and how do you punctuate an episode of a TV series, not the show itself.
I liked doing the writing, I really did, but the stuff around it was so stressful. Meetings and people wanting to consult with you all the time and having to be creative on demand in a loud room. It just wasn't me. It'd be like asking a chihuahua to do disaster rescue.
I need a quiet little job, where I can worry about teensy things like apostrophes. My insides are loud and chaotic enough as it is, without my outsides being the same.
And the good news is, I still get to do a wee bit of writing, which I did really like, but without the "Get to this meeting, get to this one, think of this idea NOW you have two hours, go" thing. So, best of both worlds!
I guess I'm kind of returning to my old life, aren't I?
I used to be a copy editor, then I switched, and now I copy edit again.
I used to date Ned, then I didn't, and now I do again.
I used to live here, then I didn't, and now I live here again.
I used to have a dog and three cats, then I switched it up to two and two like I was Chuck Wollery, and now I have a dog and three cats again.
God, I'm so retro.
I'm so 2009. Without the husband part. When do I get to the husband part?
And you know, I'm rethinking the husband part. Especially yesterday after you all told me the things that made you irrationally mad and so much of it was, "When my husband … ." I love comment days like that, and I know I irk the people who work around me when I read your comments and laugh out loud. I ell oh ell. I refuse to write those three letters even in jest.
But really, I am, you know, an irritable person. Maybe I'm better off living alone. I adore living alone. I can't begin to tell you how happy it makes me to come here and have my time to myself. Last night I got home with the intention of leaving again and going to the old theater I like and watching Rocky. I even had a brilliant idea: I'd go into the theater with my popcorn, pretend I was looking for a friend, and yell
I was cracking my own self up, for a change.
But then I decided to stay home and do my goddamn stupid yoga DVD that really namas my stay. "Expand your heart, and root down with your shin bones."
The shit they say during a yoga class is ridik. "Really plug into the back of your heart."
Okay, plug into the back of my dick. Can't they just say what they mean? Like, literally, where do you want my leg to be right now. Don't tell me to "root down" anything unless we're suddenly digging for truffles.
I'm the only person you know who gets even angrier when she does yoga.
The point is, I stayed in, and after "really bringing [my] glow forward" texted with my friend M, who comments here sometimes. I met M when we were both single and ready to root our chakras, and plug into our heart center, back last year. He lives in Florida, but he saw my profile, and when you have All This…
"I live in Florida, so we'll never meet, but your profile is great," he wrote me. What kills me is we both shut down our dating sites with a flourish sometime later, so neither of us knows our anniversary, but we know it's sometime in October.
Anyway, we've become friends. In much the same way you and I are, in that we've never actually met. I know all his stupid shit and he knows all mine, and there it is. Anyway, it was a fine evening, hating yoga and hating my friend M because he hates Say Anything, and how can I even be friends with someone with such bad taste in things?
So what do I want to get married for? I might not. I'll let you know if I do. I told Ned I might be just fine if we were just engaged and never went through with it, like Oprah and Steadman. I'm trying to still diddle Gayle, is the point.
The whole time I've been writing you, Sir Dickus R Puddingcup, over here, has been prancing past me, walking across the keypad and generally getting in my way, as cats are wont to do. Why do I always get the most jerky pets? This kitten is what Lottie was to puppies. Aka, world's most rambunctious. Look at his Great Horned Owl look, up there, and he'll get a REAL horned owl look when I throw him outside for pickup. Old Screechy outside will take this kitten to his nest.
Yesterday I was in the bathroom, and he ran in and leaped onto the shower curtain, and just hung there like a moth, just to see if he could. I watched him sway in the breeze a little, just hanging on the curtain.
wee exhaust, mom. kittee exhaust.
I gotta go, but I did want to show you the photo Ned just text me. Here is the breathtaking view from his hotel room:
Ooooooo! God. Lucky. I wish I were president of something and got to travel.
Okay, goodbye. Be sure to root down through your tailbone today. Namaste here and laugh at you when you do.