- I had a surprise editing job today — a client asked me to do a "final" read of a report I've already edited twice, because she's added some new stuff. But the new stuff she added is awful, and it's going to take a lot longer than I'd anticipated . . . and I truly hate editing things that I've already edited, it feels like going backward.
- My math kids are getting more squirrelly; I don't have good control of one group in particular, and I'm afraid the teacher will complain to my boss. I keep up a running monotone: "OK, if we have seven cubes and I show you three — Toni, bottom in your chair, please — then how many — Andrew, please stop grabbing the cubes, thank you — how many are hiding in the cave? Bonny, put the cave back, please. Elizabeth, please let go of my necklace. Everyone — chill. How many cubes are hiding? Anyone? Anyone?" (Math fever — catch it!)
- I had a job booked for Thursday and Friday, then the client contacted me and said she'd be late and could I please do it over the three-day weekend? If it were someone else I would likely have said yes, but this client is notorious for treating editor minions like crap, so I sweetly declined. I promptly got offered another job for next week, "Though," said my "broker" (the woman in my former job who gives me 90 percent of my work), "it's a big job and they'd love to get it back Wednesday, it might entail weekend work." I said, "We need to get clients out of the habit of expecting weekend work; I can guarantee to have it done by Friday" (which is their outside date). My broker said, "Actually, I think it's OK for them to expect a freelancer to work on the weekend." This floored me. Ask, sure — you can always ask for what you want. Expect? Wow. That was not how I ran things, back in the day. But, whatev. It's not my table. (That's waitress talk.)
- We had some aging cornbread and a half-can of pumpkin in the fridge, and from this I plotted a magnificent dinner — however, it required a ham steak, which our Trader Joe's (I just found out) no longer carries. I bought thin-sliced sandwich ham, which I fully expect to curl up and look ridiculous when I pan-fry it, but what can I do.
- Husband just broke one of my favorite dishes, which was a wedding present. Two days ago Mimosa broke one of our good cereal bowls. I don't want to do all the chores myself, but I would like people to stop breaking my stuff. (I don't blame Husband. Stuff happens. It just . . . gets old.)
- I have a UTI that I can't seem to shake off, leading me to believe that I have urinary tract cancer — or toxic urine.
Yes, it's snowing, and November's not even in double digits yet. But it's pretty, I'll say that.
And so is my hair, which I finally had professionally cut, after looking like a goon for the past few months.
And so are my fingernails, which are painted "autumn."
I will work on the ugly job for 20 more minutes, then I'll have a glass of wine and watch some fine TV with the fam and call it a night.
Tomorrow — is — another — day!