This is me.
OK, not really. It would be me:
- If it were daytime.
- It it were summer.
- If I were actually done working.
Instead my marathon week continues.
In real life (yes, I have one) I own a small digital publishing company. We help people create books and “value added products” they can sell along with said books.
Some of the books are actually good – one of our writers hit the NYT Best Seller List back in November. Got to number 3. Not too shabby.
Our team does things like building websites, producing videos, writing advertising copy, schmoozing the rich and infamous. They’re a good team. We enjoy one another. Nice people. Joe is a little gassy, but we hold our noses because he brings the best food to Potluck Fridays. Come to think of it, the two may be related.
Today we launch a book. Good book. Written by a wonderful woman who is right now the bane of my and my team’s existence.
Built her website to her specs back in ’13. Yup. Every month since she’s been going to get us the content, going to get her book out, going to cover everything.
First week of January she tells me “got a firm date – we’re launching January 21.” She asked me again for a list of all the things she had to get to us – things like press kits, digital photos, content for her website pages. “No problem.”
Why do I always believe them?
Timeline is set. Deadlines for content pieces. They come. They go. We get her site – sans much of the content – “finalized” last Friday. She can’t walk through it with until Saturday. That was OK, I wasn’t seeing Waco last weekend. She said she would want some tweaks.
But she didn’t want tweaks. She wanted to tear down and rebuild the Hoover Dam. Damn.
I kindly explained to her in a Steven Hawking like fashion how time works. She stared at me blankly. “It’s just a couple things” she said. We negotiated what was actually possible for humans – even super-humans like us – to accomplish.
We whittled her list of 1,674,238 items down to a little less than 300. Yeah, I know. Late Sunday night (my time) the Indians dug in. Monday us US peeps joined the fight.
We did well. After a Monday of diligence and another night by our brown-skinned Asian neighbors, by Tuesday morning it was done. FINAL final walk through.
It was a 2 hour marathon call of “the sweetest little voice” demanding the most unreasonable things. She has the uncanny ability to convince you she’s just asking for a little more sugar in her tea.
Again, we compromised. Some of her recommendations had merit. But we still lacked content. We still needed a ton from her. She was working on it, “have it to you by noon.”
We went about the new list. Moral was flagging. I circulated (again) the picture of me dancing in my underwear at last year’s Christmas party to cheer them up. We rallied like Iwo Jima.
Now it is 6am Thursday. The book drops in a few hours. I have had a grand total of 90 minutes sleep since 8am yesterday and only 5 hours the night before. I’m beat. We’ve made it, just need to “turn the key,” but I am spent.
I am looking forward to a warm bed, a warmer Waco and a deep sleep tonight.
While trying to complete a simple task, the Indians destroyed the site.
Client calls to make sure the book sales pages are ready to go! Fortunately, we had already fixed those.
Client calls to tell me the video she gave us yesterday wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but in an act of God’s mercy she already had a replacement at YouTube.
Indians are finding more problems they created on the site. YAY!
Book is number 3 on Amazon. Can someone say BOOM?
I could use a day
Of cold and wind and rain
Of skies grey and hidden sun
Buried under covers
I could use a day
Of touch and warmth and joy
Of legs entangled and hair amiss
Tickling my face
I could use a day
Of rest and books and peace
Of stretches long and sighs content
Benz burrowed deep
I could use that day
It was 4am and the power had been off since 2.
As he lay there in bed, in the pitch, not sleeping, all he thought of was her and wished she were there.
It always started the same – he would stir, holding her more tightly. On their sides, her back to his chest, his right arm cradling her head, his left exploring the softness of her body. She would stir and move against him, encouraging him to continue. His hands would then move more deftly, more excitedly to the places they both longed for him to touch, caress. His lips would find her shoulder and neck and…
She had once compared their sex life to the old Dr. Pepper slogan – 10-2-4. This morning he would have been happy just to get the 4.