So obviously, the timing on this will seem off, but I wrote the majority of this blog entry at 5 AM during a rest stop in the midst of a marathon session of writing, and since I know you respect and care about the creative process, it only seemed fair to publish the manuscript as is, omitting only a short, rambling graf that extensively covered specific reasons why I always think Australian men sound perpetually enthusiastic. Enjoy.
Oh man, friends. I am not supposed to be awake right now. It's 4:30 AM and I have been sitting at my computer since 10:30 PM, post "accidentally" watching two episodes of The City, a show I despise and openly deride to my girlfriend, then dutifully watch and become casually enflamed about... "This show is so fake and stupid," I will say, and then follow it up with "But seriously, what is Olivia's deal? Whitney can't let her just take credit for Whitney's own, hard, passionate work!" Which is totally true, but not necessarily great.
But aside from culturally immersing my mind, the reason for my six hour long one-on-one w/ my computer is a pending trip to NorCal next week, and my need to get ahead. See, the sweet thing about my job is that it lends me a certain bit of flexibility -- If I know what I'm going to write about, I can get ahead, and if I can get ahead, I can be anywhere. But seeing how my mantra is "if you're not vaguely stressed by some pending deadline, you're probably sleeping", I've opted out of the sleep part.
The thing taking up the most shelf space in my mental closet is a piece I'm currently in the midst of for Boston Mag that is shaped like a letter back and forth btw myself and another female journalist, analyzing what makes relationships unique and different in Boston. Surprisingly, it's for a relationships package.
Anyway, seeing how I only have to do anecdotal research by Googling "Boston relationships", it seemed like my chance to show off how clever, intellectual, and surprisingly intuitive I am, plus it shows how I make good points that other people haven't thought of, not even psychologists, or bearded men that have gone on Jeopardy. My biggest problem came from the fact that each letter is only supposed to be about 250 words, which I nearly got to ranting about The City.
But this has brought up a (vaguely related!) thought: is it benefiting me to stay up all night and try and work through this stuff, even though my mind has clearly melded itself into a bowl of the instant kind of Cream of Wheat after you've put in too much water and it's too late to go back, unless you start over, which means you'll miss at least a portion of that Saved By the Bell featuring Zach and Slater's bet about kissing the girl who replaced Jessi...
Judging from the draft of the Boston Mag 'lationship note I was just about to send, and the fact that it has seven spelling errors, three grammar issues, and possibly two usages of the word "youse", I would posit no.
So I'm going to sleep, but please regale me with opines on how to best manage this Big and Tall mess of work I have, and, in turn, we will both better enjoy the sunny warmth of Nor(ish)Cal together.
In lieu of flowers, please send comments.