In general, my quality of working life is as good as it can be. A couple of years ago, I made a decision out of total desperation to STOP working for less than a certain dollar amount per post. It's simply unrealistic for me to think "oh, I'll just write the posts faster." I don't write them faster. I write everything at the same rate, because my name is on them and it's not worth it to me to suck in public. This has worked out: after a few lean months, I fell into a great pattern with solid clients.
But when I stumble these days, it's because of a very specific aversion that perplexes me and, yes, has definitely cost me clients. I can't stand to talk on the phone anymore. Anytime I have to interview someone, I have to psych myself up. And I'm good at the interviews! I'm fast, friendly, perceptive! But the dread just drags me down, and I know I'm not the only one. A Facebook friend had to speak to me urgently - but only via chat. "Don't call me, I'm phone-phobic these days," she said. And I get it.
But guys, we all spent HOURS on the phone in high school, right? Like, not even talking, just watching TV "with" our friends. So. Much. Time. On the telephone.
Maybe I used up my phone time early.
I did get an old-school handset that turns my iphone into a Princess phone. Which has made a huge difference, actually. It's snazzy. Only trouble is I keep trying to "hang up" the receiver instead of pushing the button. Another activity I excelled in in high school.
Welp. Now you know. I'm off to -- **shudder** -- call someone now.
Showing posts with label deadlines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deadlines. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Monday, July 02, 2012
Deadlines Alive!
I had a devastating series of missed deadlines a few weeks ago that I thought I'd never recover from. Clients are like boyfriends in a weird way. I mean, you have a bunch of them, so maybe they're like ... uh ... maybe I'm like a whorey ... wait. I'm-a start over.
I missed a bunch of deadlines for a client I absolutely adore, and I was devastated over it. Just gutted. I hated letting them down, and worse, I feared they'd dump me, because I kind of deserved it. My writing's good, but not good enough to justify missed deadlines. I was so pissed at myself.
I had tried to shift over from Google Calendars to this thing called Cozi and for some reason I didn't get it all entered right, so I didn't get the reminders I depend on. THat was the whole point of ditching Google Calendars -- sometimes their stupid reminders get borked for no reason -- so it wasn't working for me. Honestly, I think some of this was user error, but I don't use an online shared calendar because I'm a super-genius at figuring stuff out; I use it because I'm an overwhelmed multitasker who can't hold a calendar's hand.
Anywho, now that I've upgraded my computer and my phone -- via the Genius Bar, for free, so easy, THANK YOU GENIUS BAR -- I can use iCloud and for the first time I'm using iCal for this crap. I figured out how to have it text me reminders, which was the whole reason I started using Google Calendars in the first place. Here's what I did:
Figured out the email-to-text address for my carrier
Entered that into the "email" field for the iCal alert
DONE AND DONE. Actually there were a few more steps, but that's the gist of it, and it's beautiful.
The other thing I did was, with this one client, when I submit one article, I confirm the due date of the next one. THAT has been what really helps, and I recommend it highly.
I missed a bunch of deadlines for a client I absolutely adore, and I was devastated over it. Just gutted. I hated letting them down, and worse, I feared they'd dump me, because I kind of deserved it. My writing's good, but not good enough to justify missed deadlines. I was so pissed at myself.
I had tried to shift over from Google Calendars to this thing called Cozi and for some reason I didn't get it all entered right, so I didn't get the reminders I depend on. THat was the whole point of ditching Google Calendars -- sometimes their stupid reminders get borked for no reason -- so it wasn't working for me. Honestly, I think some of this was user error, but I don't use an online shared calendar because I'm a super-genius at figuring stuff out; I use it because I'm an overwhelmed multitasker who can't hold a calendar's hand.
Anywho, now that I've upgraded my computer and my phone -- via the Genius Bar, for free, so easy, THANK YOU GENIUS BAR -- I can use iCloud and for the first time I'm using iCal for this crap. I figured out how to have it text me reminders, which was the whole reason I started using Google Calendars in the first place. Here's what I did:
Figured out the email-to-text address for my carrier
Entered that into the "email" field for the iCal alert
DONE AND DONE. Actually there were a few more steps, but that's the gist of it, and it's beautiful.
The other thing I did was, with this one client, when I submit one article, I confirm the due date of the next one. THAT has been what really helps, and I recommend it highly.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Blanker's Blank
There's this mythical thing called -- I can't say it. I'm too superstitious. It's my job and then the word "bee-ell-oh-see-kay." When a writer can't write, we call it this, and it's such a terrifying concept that my mind skates over it as a possibility, the same way it skates over traumatic memory or Kardashians.
My husband was musing about this phenomenon the other day, then said, "But you don't believe in it, right?" I worried that I would be struck mute (well, my fingers would be) on the spot. But he's right; ever since hearing a writer, years ago, say "I disavow that term," I have used that line myself. If I feel textually constipated, I reason that the writing muscles are working beneath the surface, that my mind is working on something and will let me know when it has figured the thing out.
I'm not a big one for "waiting for inspiration" or sitting still hoping the muse will strike. The solution to writer's block -- ack! i said it! -- is to write, even if what I'm writing is shit. "Inspiration can't find you if you're not where you said you'd meet it," I told him. "You have to at least show up."
So if I can't write one thing, I write around it. I write a different assignment. I write a blog post. I write an email. I write, I write, and when I'm done writing other stuff, I come back to the thing that was giving me trouble, and see if I can tease it out.
I think this is the same process -- the machinery working beneath the surface (mix that metaphor!) -- that tends to work so well in the shower. This morning I was brushing my teeth and reading my Twitter feed, which led to an article, which dovetailed with a Facebook argument that has been bothering me since yesterday, and bam. My morning deadlines are going to have to wait because if I don't offload this blog post (for RatedPeeGee), there won't be room for anything else.
Let's not talk about how often my writing metaphors would work best as poop metaphors. Let's just leave that one undigested.
My husband was musing about this phenomenon the other day, then said, "But you don't believe in it, right?" I worried that I would be struck mute (well, my fingers would be) on the spot. But he's right; ever since hearing a writer, years ago, say "I disavow that term," I have used that line myself. If I feel textually constipated, I reason that the writing muscles are working beneath the surface, that my mind is working on something and will let me know when it has figured the thing out.
I'm not a big one for "waiting for inspiration" or sitting still hoping the muse will strike. The solution to writer's block -- ack! i said it! -- is to write, even if what I'm writing is shit. "Inspiration can't find you if you're not where you said you'd meet it," I told him. "You have to at least show up."
So if I can't write one thing, I write around it. I write a different assignment. I write a blog post. I write an email. I write, I write, and when I'm done writing other stuff, I come back to the thing that was giving me trouble, and see if I can tease it out.
I think this is the same process -- the machinery working beneath the surface (mix that metaphor!) -- that tends to work so well in the shower. This morning I was brushing my teeth and reading my Twitter feed, which led to an article, which dovetailed with a Facebook argument that has been bothering me since yesterday, and bam. My morning deadlines are going to have to wait because if I don't offload this blog post (for RatedPeeGee), there won't be room for anything else.
Let's not talk about how often my writing metaphors would work best as poop metaphors. Let's just leave that one undigested.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Today, right now, I do two pieces: Recipe.com one and a corporate one. I am going to do both. This despite my spending 2 hours grinding through my in-box. I also applied for yet another job.
What's with recruiters suddenly being the new used car salesmen? Only used car salesmen didn't call you at home on a weekend to ask if you wanted this new car they just found. And then ask you to do all this stuff to GET the new car and then ignore you after you send them what they asked for, which took hours out of your weekend work days.
Whatever.
I'm putting it here and will report back when each thing is done. What are you going to work on today?
I'll race you.
UPDATE: Both pieces done, 3 hours later, not too bad. However, I thought one was being done a day early when, in fact, it was a day late. Editor forgives me. I love him.
What's with recruiters suddenly being the new used car salesmen? Only used car salesmen didn't call you at home on a weekend to ask if you wanted this new car they just found. And then ask you to do all this stuff to GET the new car and then ignore you after you send them what they asked for, which took hours out of your weekend work days.
Whatever.
I'm putting it here and will report back when each thing is done. What are you going to work on today?
I'll race you.
UPDATE: Both pieces done, 3 hours later, not too bad. However, I thought one was being done a day early when, in fact, it was a day late. Editor forgives me. I love him.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Printer
It's ever-fascinating to me, the things that I will find completely necessary -- nay, urgent -- when I sit down to work. I'll spend all night fretting about an upcoming -- nay, looming -- deadline, and as I walk into my office I'll be mentally calculating how much I can get done in my allotted four hours of desk time. And somehow as my butt lowers onto my yoga ball, I magically pass into an enchanted land where the only concievable problem is that I don't have a working printer.
Here are some ways I drag that out to fill my work time:
- Price-comparisons at different stores
- Price-comparisons within each store
- Searching for and entering various coupon codes
- Reading reviews
- Comparing prices of ink, to see if that offsets the cheapness of the printer
The funny part ... and there is a funny part ... is that I'm always just going to buy the cheapest Epson regardless of what any online review says.
Did I say funny part? That's the sad part.
Anyway. Once I realized that this expense would go into our new family business account, I somehow let go of the idea of doing it now and emailed the best printer to my husband, who's in charge of our bookkeeping. ooooookkkkkkkkeeeeeeee i love that word.
And now? Back to work. I have the exact perfect story to work on and I just realized I was totally looking forward to it, back when my butt was up higher.
Crap, I never found a place to say nay, something again just so it'd be clear I was kidding about ever saying nay, anything. Well listen, do you want me to go back and revise, or do you want me to make this deadline? I thought so. Thanks for your patience -- nay, forbearance. HAHAHA.
Here are some ways I drag that out to fill my work time:
- Price-comparisons at different stores
- Price-comparisons within each store
- Searching for and entering various coupon codes
- Reading reviews
- Comparing prices of ink, to see if that offsets the cheapness of the printer
The funny part ... and there is a funny part ... is that I'm always just going to buy the cheapest Epson regardless of what any online review says.
Did I say funny part? That's the sad part.
Anyway. Once I realized that this expense would go into our new family business account, I somehow let go of the idea of doing it now and emailed the best printer to my husband, who's in charge of our bookkeeping. ooooookkkkkkkkeeeeeeee i love that word.
And now? Back to work. I have the exact perfect story to work on and I just realized I was totally looking forward to it, back when my butt was up higher.
Crap, I never found a place to say nay, something again just so it'd be clear I was kidding about ever saying nay, anything. Well listen, do you want me to go back and revise, or do you want me to make this deadline? I thought so. Thanks for your patience -- nay, forbearance. HAHAHA.
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Pause That Refreshes
I Tweeted the other day that "broke is the new single." What I meant was this: when I was single, I felt shame, worry that I was a freak who would always be this way, envy that others seemed to have figured all this out, and determination that I would always, always remember what this felt like, even when I was no longer single.
I kept that promise to a certain extent. Part of me is just too freakin busy, at this point, to even notice that people feel at loose ends. Yesterday was Mother's Day, and as I lovingly nuzzled my daughters' hair, noticing the difference in their smells and the way their skin feels, I didn't remember -- possibly for the first time! -- that one Mother's Day twenty-odd years ago, when I trudged down into the subway and saw a beautiful family running up and out, the mom adorable in her hippie dress, the dad slinging kids one-armed like a pro, and sunk into a slough of despond. Never mind that that family ended up divorced a few years later (Park Slope is a small town, yo) or that, you know, it just wasn't my time yet, and it wouldn't have killed me to just Enjoy Myself rather than constantly comparing my life to everyone else's. My response to seeing a happy family was worry and a pervasive sense of inferiority.
Now that I really am that hippie mom (uh sorta), I don't miss a chance to feel grateful and lucky, rather than put-upon and resentful. But it's not a constant awareness. It's fading. The same way that "I will always be a smoker, even after I stop!" eventually faded. And that "I will always remember how annoying grownups are!" lost its charm when I realized how self-obsessed twelve-year-olds are. We can't stay frozen in amber. Our policies evolve along with our circumstances.
Anyway, so I'm not obsessively single anymore. I'm not a smoker anymore, not even emotionally. But I retain my outsider status by being hella broke, underemployed, and resentful of my friends who do zany things like have date night or buy pants. And I want to remember always how crappy this feels so I don't make broke friends feel worse when I'm feeling better. I seem to remember an essay by Anne Lamott on this theme -- having to cut off a friend who was kvelling too much about her own good fortune. At the time, I thought she was emotionally stingy. I still would not allow myself to do such a thing -- suck it up, I tell myself, because friends are harder to make than money. But I do see how the emotional energy required to negotiate being too broke to pay every bill, every month, can be so draining, there's no energy left over for applause.
Like a single person obsessing over a new potential mate, I spend so much energy hitting "refresh" on my email account that I have to force myself to actually take the steps to get new work and, you know, do the work on my plate. I'm sure that metaphor could be more elegant. But if I spend any more time on it, I won't make today's deadline.
So here's my vow: Universe, give me enough work to support my family, and I'll keep my mouth shut and clap for my friends when you do the same for them. Deal?
I kept that promise to a certain extent. Part of me is just too freakin busy, at this point, to even notice that people feel at loose ends. Yesterday was Mother's Day, and as I lovingly nuzzled my daughters' hair, noticing the difference in their smells and the way their skin feels, I didn't remember -- possibly for the first time! -- that one Mother's Day twenty-odd years ago, when I trudged down into the subway and saw a beautiful family running up and out, the mom adorable in her hippie dress, the dad slinging kids one-armed like a pro, and sunk into a slough of despond. Never mind that that family ended up divorced a few years later (Park Slope is a small town, yo) or that, you know, it just wasn't my time yet, and it wouldn't have killed me to just Enjoy Myself rather than constantly comparing my life to everyone else's. My response to seeing a happy family was worry and a pervasive sense of inferiority.
Now that I really am that hippie mom (uh sorta), I don't miss a chance to feel grateful and lucky, rather than put-upon and resentful. But it's not a constant awareness. It's fading. The same way that "I will always be a smoker, even after I stop!" eventually faded. And that "I will always remember how annoying grownups are!" lost its charm when I realized how self-obsessed twelve-year-olds are. We can't stay frozen in amber. Our policies evolve along with our circumstances.
Anyway, so I'm not obsessively single anymore. I'm not a smoker anymore, not even emotionally. But I retain my outsider status by being hella broke, underemployed, and resentful of my friends who do zany things like have date night or buy pants. And I want to remember always how crappy this feels so I don't make broke friends feel worse when I'm feeling better. I seem to remember an essay by Anne Lamott on this theme -- having to cut off a friend who was kvelling too much about her own good fortune. At the time, I thought she was emotionally stingy. I still would not allow myself to do such a thing -- suck it up, I tell myself, because friends are harder to make than money. But I do see how the emotional energy required to negotiate being too broke to pay every bill, every month, can be so draining, there's no energy left over for applause.
Like a single person obsessing over a new potential mate, I spend so much energy hitting "refresh" on my email account that I have to force myself to actually take the steps to get new work and, you know, do the work on my plate. I'm sure that metaphor could be more elegant. But if I spend any more time on it, I won't make today's deadline.
So here's my vow: Universe, give me enough work to support my family, and I'll keep my mouth shut and clap for my friends when you do the same for them. Deal?
Monday, March 19, 2012
Will Blog For Clothes
My latest client is an amazing clothing designer, my total favorite. They love my writing and are patient with my overzealous wordiness, probably because their editorial director is also from magazines. It's a great feeling.
Not such a great feeling is when there's a last-minute correction that I need to do ... and I'm spending the morning doing my shift at my daughter's co-op. This happened Friday, and it felt awful. I'm careful not to look at my phone during that shift, because the teachers understandably want us to focus on the kids, and I, for one, can easily spend the whole time playing dodge-child, whapping their heads away with my left hand while scrolling through my Twitter feed with the right. Plus, Friday was just a clusterschtup, with all of us awakened by my phone's alarm telling us it was time to leave the house. Followed immediately by Penny sobbing that she didn't want to go to school and needed me by her side AT ALL TIMES. Oy. By lunchtime, the morning teacher was ready to throttle me, the other working parents, and probably the kids as well, and I can't blame her. And the whole time, my client was waiting for a response. Master of none!
SO it's Monday, and fiddle dee dee, today is another day. Time to make up some work, and create some good will for the next clusterschmuck.
Not such a great feeling is when there's a last-minute correction that I need to do ... and I'm spending the morning doing my shift at my daughter's co-op. This happened Friday, and it felt awful. I'm careful not to look at my phone during that shift, because the teachers understandably want us to focus on the kids, and I, for one, can easily spend the whole time playing dodge-child, whapping their heads away with my left hand while scrolling through my Twitter feed with the right. Plus, Friday was just a clusterschtup, with all of us awakened by my phone's alarm telling us it was time to leave the house. Followed immediately by Penny sobbing that she didn't want to go to school and needed me by her side AT ALL TIMES. Oy. By lunchtime, the morning teacher was ready to throttle me, the other working parents, and probably the kids as well, and I can't blame her. And the whole time, my client was waiting for a response. Master of none!
SO it's Monday, and fiddle dee dee, today is another day. Time to make up some work, and create some good will for the next clusterschmuck.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Adjusted expectations
Phew. I have changed my schedule around a bit so that I can hit my deadlines, and it feels a lot better than, you know, not doing that. But I'm feeling a bit forlorn about two recent job prospects that didn't pan out.
Plus -- and this is weird -- someone in the internets got upset about an article I wrote in -- let me check. March of 2005. I interviewed I guy about some singles parties he was running and wrote a very brief article about the trend. Six years later, the online magazine was still using the content, and another guy who eventually bought the rights to these parties (this is a living?) started harassing me on LinkedIn and Twitter because he wanted me to change something in this six-year-old article.
First of all, seriously? Why do people think the writers with the byline have the least bit of control over what happens to this copy after we hand it in? In the olden days, if you had an embarrassingly bad story under your byline, meh, big deal. The issue would be gone in a month and nobody would remember. Now it's all trapped in amber and on view for all time, like Han Solo in the carbonite. Uch, it was just annoying to deal with this doofus complaining at me.
Meanwhile I'm pitching an old contact at a site I loved writing for -- gotta keep plugging away. Oh: the girls fell asleep an hour early because I haven't changed the clocks in my house. Everybody's happier this way, and I'm pitching and posting like a champ. For now.
Plus -- and this is weird -- someone in the internets got upset about an article I wrote in -- let me check. March of 2005. I interviewed I guy about some singles parties he was running and wrote a very brief article about the trend. Six years later, the online magazine was still using the content, and another guy who eventually bought the rights to these parties (this is a living?) started harassing me on LinkedIn and Twitter because he wanted me to change something in this six-year-old article.
First of all, seriously? Why do people think the writers with the byline have the least bit of control over what happens to this copy after we hand it in? In the olden days, if you had an embarrassingly bad story under your byline, meh, big deal. The issue would be gone in a month and nobody would remember. Now it's all trapped in amber and on view for all time, like Han Solo in the carbonite. Uch, it was just annoying to deal with this doofus complaining at me.
Meanwhile I'm pitching an old contact at a site I loved writing for -- gotta keep plugging away. Oh: the girls fell asleep an hour early because I haven't changed the clocks in my house. Everybody's happier this way, and I'm pitching and posting like a champ. For now.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Late night. Must work. Legos!
I can't fucking flip a picture in blogger? For crap's sake. Fine. You get the idea. I ran out of time, Randy had to go to work, and here i am, trying to get at least one of my two posts done. arrrrhhghghgsflksjalfkfjla.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Workin' on a Sunday
a Sunday a Sunday cuz that's how this week weeeeeent. Okay, also planning birthday party, but hoping to catch up and get ahead anyway. Thing is, I need to talk to my editors and change my schedule and, instead, I'm just starting each day with the vain hope that this is the day I'll suddenly work 5 times faster than ever before. This is not just a problem in my work life; I am late 75% of the time to either pick up or drop off Penny, even when I'm working a shift at the co-op, and Randy says I have no concept of what time is or how long things take. He's right. And with that, off I go to write about OH SHIT the jack o'lantern post!!! i have to take one more photo. okay. bye.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Here's how yesterday went
So you know how they say that being a working mom means you're always letting someone down? Yesterday I put that into action.
When I ran out of office time at 10:30, I had only gotten one post done. But I was really really close to having the second one done, too, and I knew if I could just grab a half hour of quiet time, I'd reach that day's minimum baseline goal. I know, wow, really reaching for the stars here.
Now, Penny was at preschool, and my afternoon shift at her co-op didn't start for a while, so I tried working with Abby at my feet, playing with blocks. She needed to snuggle, so I moved her onto my lap. Snuggling turned into napping, and I thought, "Bingo! I'm gonna get this sucker done."
This is where things get muddy. The alarm went off on my phone, playing the opening of "Camp Granada" and telling me to get going for my work shift. My mind then did a switcheroo: "I set that early, so I'd have time to get dressed after it went off, right? So I have a half hour?"
I looked at the clock. I was supposed to be at school at 12:20. But for the morning shift, I arrive at 8:50. So somehow my brain turned that into "I don't have to be there till 12:50, I can get this done!" I typed and posted feverishly, and got the damn thing in.
I was just pushing the "publish" button when my phone rang. It was Teacher Tom. "You're supposed to be here!" he said. And my brain suddenly sproinged back into the real world, and I realized what I had done. Amazing: I completely self-sabotaged in the interest of making a deadline.
I was so mortified, so absolutely embarrassed (this is only the most recent in a string of late-pickups, tardy-arrivals, and school-screwups), that I briefly considered not showing up at all, hiring someone to pick up Penny, and moving to another state, but I faced the music and worked the rest of my shift with appropriate humility.
I'd like to say I'm ditching the guilt to celebrate the deadline I made, and that I'll do the same in reverse (refuse to feel guilty about deadlines when I get to school on time), but come on. I think we all know that's as likely as my making today's deadlines.
Off I go, then. At least I get to make jack o' lanterns out of unconventional materials today! Colon close-parens!
When I ran out of office time at 10:30, I had only gotten one post done. But I was really really close to having the second one done, too, and I knew if I could just grab a half hour of quiet time, I'd reach that day's minimum baseline goal. I know, wow, really reaching for the stars here.
Now, Penny was at preschool, and my afternoon shift at her co-op didn't start for a while, so I tried working with Abby at my feet, playing with blocks. She needed to snuggle, so I moved her onto my lap. Snuggling turned into napping, and I thought, "Bingo! I'm gonna get this sucker done."
This is where things get muddy. The alarm went off on my phone, playing the opening of "Camp Granada" and telling me to get going for my work shift. My mind then did a switcheroo: "I set that early, so I'd have time to get dressed after it went off, right? So I have a half hour?"
I looked at the clock. I was supposed to be at school at 12:20. But for the morning shift, I arrive at 8:50. So somehow my brain turned that into "I don't have to be there till 12:50, I can get this done!" I typed and posted feverishly, and got the damn thing in.
I was just pushing the "publish" button when my phone rang. It was Teacher Tom. "You're supposed to be here!" he said. And my brain suddenly sproinged back into the real world, and I realized what I had done. Amazing: I completely self-sabotaged in the interest of making a deadline.
I was so mortified, so absolutely embarrassed (this is only the most recent in a string of late-pickups, tardy-arrivals, and school-screwups), that I briefly considered not showing up at all, hiring someone to pick up Penny, and moving to another state, but I faced the music and worked the rest of my shift with appropriate humility.
I'd like to say I'm ditching the guilt to celebrate the deadline I made, and that I'll do the same in reverse (refuse to feel guilty about deadlines when I get to school on time), but come on. I think we all know that's as likely as my making today's deadlines.
Off I go, then. At least I get to make jack o' lanterns out of unconventional materials today! Colon close-parens!
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Yep, I'm a bitch.
One side-effect of this new schedule is that I get hyper-focused when I'm here at my desk, and plan my work down to the last minute -- sometimes it feels like to the last second. So when I think I have 10 more minutes, and then my husband comes in with the baby to have a last-minute chat about things before he leaves for work, I am liable to bite his head off.
This is to explain things if you happen to see a headless man walking to the BART this morning. He used to be 6'4", but I'm estimating he's about 5'11" without his noggin.
I feel like this is a common problem, and I'm sure it could be cleared up easily. For instance, maybe we can chat while he's at the BART station? Or maybe he needed something from me before he left. Well, I guess we'll find out.
Yesterday I was even more of a lunatic and I have determined that I have to stop trying to pack everything into each day. But when it comes to getting my work done, I still feel like there's hot wolf breath on the back of my neck until I've made my two deadlines per day, which I did manage today (though I missed one yesterday that I hoped to make up).
Anyway, I'm now exiting the workplace and will let you know if he was trying to tell me the kitchen was on fire.
This is to explain things if you happen to see a headless man walking to the BART this morning. He used to be 6'4", but I'm estimating he's about 5'11" without his noggin.
I feel like this is a common problem, and I'm sure it could be cleared up easily. For instance, maybe we can chat while he's at the BART station? Or maybe he needed something from me before he left. Well, I guess we'll find out.
Yesterday I was even more of a lunatic and I have determined that I have to stop trying to pack everything into each day. But when it comes to getting my work done, I still feel like there's hot wolf breath on the back of my neck until I've made my two deadlines per day, which I did manage today (though I missed one yesterday that I hoped to make up).
Anyway, I'm now exiting the workplace and will let you know if he was trying to tell me the kitchen was on fire.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Seriously people we need to get started earlier.
I have 45 minutes to work today because we got to sleep so late last night / slept in today again. This is nuts in the butts. And with both girls I won't be able to use the Ergo to gain an extra little work time. arrrgh.
I did find a cache of pitched/approved ideas, so at least I can get rolling right away. The first one is, of course, a child-safety story, and those I really have to steel myself emotionally to deal with, but that's not time-consuming, it's just hard.
My friend emailed me the other day, my freelance role-model who got me started in this whole game, and asked "How can you stand to only work two hours a day?" I've been too embarrassed to admit it's nooooo problem. I wish I had more time to blog, but the issue isn't "oh! i want to work," it's "oh! we need the ducats." That'll change, I'm sure, as the weeks wear on and I realize this isn't just a temporary state of affairs.
ok then, safety story, 20 minutes to have it up and out.
I did find a cache of pitched/approved ideas, so at least I can get rolling right away. The first one is, of course, a child-safety story, and those I really have to steel myself emotionally to deal with, but that's not time-consuming, it's just hard.
My friend emailed me the other day, my freelance role-model who got me started in this whole game, and asked "How can you stand to only work two hours a day?" I've been too embarrassed to admit it's nooooo problem. I wish I had more time to blog, but the issue isn't "oh! i want to work," it's "oh! we need the ducats." That'll change, I'm sure, as the weeks wear on and I realize this isn't just a temporary state of affairs.
ok then, safety story, 20 minutes to have it up and out.
Monday, October 03, 2011
This is me working today.
She's watching Teletubbies on my browser in an unidentifiable language. Late wakeup + no nap = at least I made my 2 deadlines today.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
Let's try that again
So I would have to define my first week of being a mom-working, as opposed to working-mom, as an epic fail. As a mom, I ran the kids absolutely ragged and now they're both spending the weekend dazed and exhausted with runny noses. As a worker, I think I did 2 days' worth of posts? Or maybe 1 days' worth of work, spread out over 2 days?
On the other hand, it was Rosh Hashonah, and it was also my first week, so I'm not firing myself just yet. I'm grabbing 3 hours of work today, and was supposed to do the same yesterday but had to help out a friend instead. So let's see if I can do.... Rocker Lawsuits, Flame Retardants (maybe not that one, I'll look at the emails), and I'll Pray Later.
I'm bummed that I can't seem to make the startup blog happen. I just don't have the bandwidth to work for free for them, and they aren't answering my emails. I also want to post to my craft blog. So don't forget that.
Sheesh. Okay. One thing at a time! Bird by bird! Let's start again. Rocker lawsuits to start.
On the other hand, it was Rosh Hashonah, and it was also my first week, so I'm not firing myself just yet. I'm grabbing 3 hours of work today, and was supposed to do the same yesterday but had to help out a friend instead. So let's see if I can do.... Rocker Lawsuits, Flame Retardants (maybe not that one, I'll look at the emails), and I'll Pray Later.
I'm bummed that I can't seem to make the startup blog happen. I just don't have the bandwidth to work for free for them, and they aren't answering my emails. I also want to post to my craft blog. So don't forget that.
Sheesh. Okay. One thing at a time! Bird by bird! Let's start again. Rocker lawsuits to start.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Ramping up (did I really just say that?)
Okay. Okay. Yesterday I only did one story. Today, I should do three. Actually I should do five because technically I should not be working tomorrow, on Rosh Hashonah, but COME ON. And now it's past 9am and I only have an hour and a half minus eight minutes. arrrrrgh.
The morning is just effed seven ways to sunday. Randy wakes up and makes breakfast, and then somehow the girls end up on me. Meanwhile I should be bounding out of bed, grabbing coffee, and disappearing into the office, but somehow I end up pulling the covers over my head and just closing my eyes for five more blessed seconds. What's funny about this is that as good as it feels to feel my eyelids slip down over the burning orbs that cannot yet stand to see the day, I immediately think, "you lazy, lazy slattern, there isn't enough self-loathing in the world for you right now." But I just pile the self-loathing on top of the blanket and it makes me feel even warmer. Mmmmm. Loathy.
I really really need to pitch some relationship stories today! well, what can I do.
Oh! I did enable comments, though. So there's that. Huzzah!
Let's see if I can poop out two stories RIGHT NOW and then another one HA HA. Okay. Which one first? Gloria Vanderbilt! GO!
The morning is just effed seven ways to sunday. Randy wakes up and makes breakfast, and then somehow the girls end up on me. Meanwhile I should be bounding out of bed, grabbing coffee, and disappearing into the office, but somehow I end up pulling the covers over my head and just closing my eyes for five more blessed seconds. What's funny about this is that as good as it feels to feel my eyelids slip down over the burning orbs that cannot yet stand to see the day, I immediately think, "you lazy, lazy slattern, there isn't enough self-loathing in the world for you right now." But I just pile the self-loathing on top of the blanket and it makes me feel even warmer. Mmmmm. Loathy.
I really really need to pitch some relationship stories today! well, what can I do.
Oh! I did enable comments, though. So there's that. Huzzah!
Let's see if I can poop out two stories RIGHT NOW and then another one HA HA. Okay. Which one first? Gloria Vanderbilt! GO!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Day Two
Okay. So yesterday I did a bunch of organizing and today I was supposed to write two posts, but I didn't sit down at my desk untilllll... um 9:24. For the record, I'm allegedly working from 8:30-10:30 Pacific time. (Tangent: Can we just say PT and ET and not make it PST or PDT, which I never remember which is which, and just let the computer make the necessary adjustments?)
Anyway, I like to complain that the girls have me up 2-3 times in the night, and all I want to do when they get up is grab a few more minutes' worth of sleep, but come on. I go to sleep earlier to compensate, so let's ovary up and get to work.
I got a subscription to a magazine now helmed by my beloved executive editor at Big Glossy Mag where I worked. I don't think she knows she was beloved unto me -- we only worked at the same place a few months, and she only edited one of my stories, but it was my first one, and it was really hard to research, and she praised it, for which she will be forever beloved. So. I'll be pitching them again soon, and should be pitching Match again today. Shoot. Maybe tomorrow. Argh!
Today I'm supposed to do: Rocker Lawsuits and Gloria Vanderbilt. I think I can do those two in an hour, because I did a bunch of prep-work yesterday. Let's see how I do. GO.
Anyway, I like to complain that the girls have me up 2-3 times in the night, and all I want to do when they get up is grab a few more minutes' worth of sleep, but come on. I go to sleep earlier to compensate, so let's ovary up and get to work.
I got a subscription to a magazine now helmed by my beloved executive editor at Big Glossy Mag where I worked. I don't think she knows she was beloved unto me -- we only worked at the same place a few months, and she only edited one of my stories, but it was my first one, and it was really hard to research, and she praised it, for which she will be forever beloved. So. I'll be pitching them again soon, and should be pitching Match again today. Shoot. Maybe tomorrow. Argh!
Today I'm supposed to do: Rocker Lawsuits and Gloria Vanderbilt. I think I can do those two in an hour, because I did a bunch of prep-work yesterday. Let's see how I do. GO.
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