May 7th, 2003

elijah

dead head

Oh. My. God. How much do I want to kill the biz dev fruitcakes I work with? Ask me! ASK ME! A hell of a lot is how much. We've progressed--no, I'm sorry, we've regressed--from, "I'm going to give you content to throw on the site at the last minute before launch," to, "Here's some content, and ohbytheway, this client has already launched." With broken links to pages that don't exist.

I want my Ultimate 70s Collection CDs to come. All day I've been playing CDs I've owned for years and for some reason they're all striking me wrong. There's a tulip dying on my desk, and I had wasabi for lunch, on some overpriced shrimp rolls. I feel that I should just string these things together without explanation. Perhaps this entry should just read in its entirety:

Business, bad music, wasabi, dying tulip.

It's like a poem. A poem of my headache.

I need some fannish content, stat.
elijah

like a prayer

I've spent much of the day editing client copy for our web site. This is a manual process of reviewing text, making changes, creating documents, and setting them to go live online. The business end of our company would like to automate this process so that no one touches the client's text in any editorial or proofing capacity--even though this is our web site the text is appearing on, not the client's.

Every editor reading this just felt a chill go down her spine.

Today has been busy and annoying in turns. My manager and I just shake out heads at each other, baffled at the things we're being asked to do. At one point I had to get up and leave the building and get ice cream, because if I didn't, I was going to take a pair of scissors and hunt down some of these chuckleheads and stab them to death. And make paper dolls of their flesh!

Busy is better than not busy. I finally am getting back to the point, actually, of having too much to do, which always helps me focus on work. I like an overloaded plate, having a lot to balance so that things don't slide off. I wish I could retain my focus past five o'clock though. That's when the brain fog rolls in, regardless of how much I've had to eat, or how else I might feel. I can't focus any longer. I wish I could believe that I'm going to go home and write, but...yeahhhh.

Have pretty much stopped watching Charmed, by the way, which used to kill that first hour after I got home from work. They bumped too many eps and made a hash of continuity, and I got irritated. I thought about trying to catch up during the morning syndicated run, which was running a season or so behind and was unlikely to be pre-empted by basketball, but it seemed a lot of effort for a low return. Cole's sweaty, salmon-lipped charms were not enough to enslave me.

Diet Coke, plastic slinky, stomach ache, ennui.