On Friday, people in my department kept coming up to me and sucking their teeth and saying Oooh. Oooh, it’s going to be rough on Monday. Why? I’m not going to be here. And he’s not going to be here, and neither is she, and she isn’t either. That means you’re going to be here alone, doesn’t it? Oooh, you’re booked all day, aren’t you? You’re booked from the second you walk in, aren’t you? Oooh, that’s rough. Are you going to have a good weekend? Try to have a good weekend! I’m sorry I’m not coming in on Monday. No, sincerely. I will think of you while I am lounging with my tropical drink, soaking up the last of the early-season sun and not proofreading 124-slide PowerPoint presentations and sell sheets and white papers and messaging frameworks! Have a good one!
I’m brave, I told them. I am totally brave. It’ll be fine! It’s going to be fine. It’s hard work and it takes a lot of concentration and focus and is tedious and nerve-wracking, especially when you don’t have backup. But it’s fine! I’ll get in early on Monday, probably leave late, but I will get it done and you will be so impressed that you will provide me with candy and kisses and possibly a Lamborghini of some kind.
Then all the freelance work came in–the project was delayed for so
long, sorry! But it’s all done now. The deadline hasn’t changed, so
you’ve only got three days, that’s cool, right? Okay bye! So the
weekend I’ve spent on my laptop, tanning by the glow of the VGA display
and trying not to panic. Steadily plowing through the work I have to
do, knocking these files out slowly, one by one, right after the other,
short break for pug-snuggling and then back to work. But I’m still not
done. Up late last night, in early today, so much left to do and no
time left in which to do it.
I will fold time like origami, stop it like a watch, beat it with
sticks and make it beg me for mercy and offer to do anything I want.
I’m going to finish what I have to do, and do it all in a damn fine
way. I’m going to put my life on hold for awhile, because I have got
to, even though I do not want to, the idea of it makes me a little
crazy. But I am going to keep my head down and dig my way out and come
up proud of myself, needing a vacation, never wanting to think about
serial commas again and hoping that someone burns down all the
dictionaries and declares martial law on proofreading. In the meantime,
I will be tough like diamonds.