Thoughts on the Day

Before we go any further, I would encourage you to navigate two posts back and click on the sepia picture of the cat nursing her kittens. Clicking it will enlarge it, and you can enjoy their fuzziness even more. This is extraordinarily important to your existence. Please do so now.

[Kitten-related interlude.]

OK, now that you should be in a fuzzy frame of mind, we can continue. I feel like my editing skills are slipping. For some pieces I do not say enough. Granted, these are polished pieces, and their styles harmonize with my expectations. For others, I feel I say a lot, picking at things that are really subjective. I don't like something, and I say so, and give whatever reasons I have. I wrote to one of my cohorts that I was sorry if I came across as a harsh and cruel bastard (I don't usually swear, but this word seemed to really be the most accurate description of how I might have seemed). I came across as one largely because I was one for the time being. I was simply too tired to make my comments sound nice. It was all I could do to remove the dripping sarcasm from some comments. And I say some, because the others were sent off still wet. Anyway, he wrote back saying that he wasn't "in the course to hear nice things about my writing. Nice is a waste of my time." This pleased me; as hardened as that makes him seem, it does mean he could take anything I gave him, and his writing would improve as a result. Similarly, I try not to take any edits of my work personally either. I expect to be challenged, even if it does privately hurt. I can callous (that's a verb, here, meaning to develop a callous). My work will improve as a result. (That's always the phrase: "improve as a result." I wonder if we can come up with something else.) For this reason I feel antsy if I receive what I call a 'soft edit.'

The work load is becoming incredible. This is the second night in a row that I've had to decline social activities in favour of slaving away at this editing. And that's not a thing of responsibility; it was acutal necessity. Yesterday, I recalled a meeting I had had, and was trying to figure out if it was earlier in the same week, or if it was the week previous. Then I deduced that it must have happened--wait, this Friday? As in, yesterday? That's... let's just say that Friday was a loooooong day. Two classes, two hour+ meetings for two seperate organizations, and lots of editing/time wasting.

Friday night I ran out of ink, so yesterday I went to buy a new cartridge. I had a sly suspicion on the way to the store that they were phasing out the ink, and, lo and behold, I was right. They could order a black in for Tuesday, but no cyan cartridges were likely to be available ever again. They had some off-brand compatible cartridges, but I know better; I haven't been able to print blue for a year because I bought a "compatible" cartridge. They don't work, at least not on my printer. So I asked if I should be thinking about getting a new printer, and the representative said that wouldn't be a bad idea. Ten minutes later, I'm walking out of the store with a slick black little printer, only $41. It has no scanner, but I can use the scanner on my old printer, which still works fine, just has no ink. Creative solutions; cheap solutions. I like.

And now I must wash my lunch dishes, pour myself some Coca-cola, restrain myself with the honey graham bears, and get back to mad editing. I have a Navs Sunday supper tonight, and must arrive at 6:00 this week. So I have roughly 5 and a half hours to finish all of my editing for my peers. Away I go!

If my post got you down, please refer to the kittens again. Fellow blogger Jon (see "the inevitable" to your right) has said something about finding the little things that make life OK, and call upon them when you're having a hard time. If my kittens can do that for you, I suggest you bookmark the post. If not, then ignore them, I suppose.