If you’ve got to work, the way to do it is go into the office in the morning, put your head down, and then not lift it again until eight hours have passed with a ridiculous kind of quickness. Last week I was a little embarrassed, filling out my timesheet with the very few hours I was actually working on billable stuff and not reading the in-house Style Guides; this week, my timesheet goes off the page, with all the jobs I’ve been doing, and I’ve stayed late every night this week, so far, and I feel wonderfully accomplished. I’m also incredibly wiped out.
I’m doing a good job, they say–I’ve caught stuff other proofreaders have missed, my turnaround time is impressive but I am still completely thorough, I ask good questions, I am a pleasure to work with, they say, and the sun is blasting right out of my bottom. I like the work I am doing, too. There is something enormously satisfying about taking a flawed document or layout and polishing it to a bright and glossy shine. I like things to be perfect, and I like it when I am the one who perfects things.
Other proofreaders say, oh, I eventually want to write. They have career ambitions and important goals! I am happy to sit at my desk and wield a mighty red pen and not write advertising copy, even a shred of it. Though I guess when I gently, diplomatically suggest that things ought to be worded in a way that isn’t confusing and doesn’t suck, I am doing just a scosch of writing, there. But that is as far down that rabbit hole as I want to head.
I am way behind in my emails, because there is no time to idly surf the
net, and that makes me cross, and I have no idea what’s happening on
the various blogs that I peruse as a hobby, but I am totally okay with
that. It feels a little bit like I’ve been torn forcibly from the arms
of the Internet and cast out into the cold, cruel darkness–but I had an
addiction, and cold turkey, that is the way to beat that kind of thing,
don’t you think?
It’s been a long damn week. I’ve been keeping up as best I can–my house
is reasonably clean because I pick up after myself as I go. I return
emails when I have a few minutes in between freelance projects. I’m
staying on top of freelance stuff on my commute into work, and my
commute home, and while I boil the water for my pasta and fork it into
my mouth for dinner and after dinner and until I crawl into bed and
read a few pages of a trashy book before I find myself falling asleep
with the light on.
I remember looking so much forward to last weekend, and I am still a
little amazed that that weekend came and went and now it is Friday and
a whole new weekend that I am so looking forward to, during which I
will work a lot, but also nap, and snuggle my E who I miss like crazy,
and lift my head up and look around and hope it doesn’t pass too