Gloriously Lazy Sundays

Every once in awhile I let myself have a day to recharge. I call them reboot days. There are only a couple of rules: Don't get dressed if I don't want to; don't do anything at all if I don't feel like it. It's harder to do than you think. There are actually a ton of things I should be doing, and nagging thoughts that tell me to listen to the shoulds, the you-betters, the why-don't-yous. But reboot days are necessary. I've had a few weeks of going non-stop, which included making some major decisions. So this is my first free day in a long time, and my chance to catch up on sleep and to relax. Reboot time. Tomorrow I'll be refreshed and ready to jump into my last week of work before moving on to my next gig. Saying goodbye will be tough and starting a new job nerve-wracking, but giving myself this day to relax and reflect means I'm equipped to take it on. With a fresh start. Even though my laundry pile hasn't gotten any smaller.

Kool-Aid absorption

OK, how bad is it that I sorta felt sorry when I heard my allergy medication is going off-patent? For a moment I had a twinge of sympathy for this little pill that has helped me through so many picnics and naps with kitties. This fall, Singulair will get LOE (Loss of Exclusivity, for you non-pharma types, or, well, everyone else in the world), which means my allergy meds will get much, much cheaper as they go generic. Probably $5 instead of the $90 or so I'm currently paying. So finally, I drank the pharma kool-aid and it tasted good. May be time for a detox....

Superpharmablastwikifuntime.com

So, career update: Late last year I left behind my red pen and picked up the green one. That's right: finally, I'm a copywriter. Well, I shouldn't say "finally," because really that was never my endgame. It was just something a few people had encouraged me to do, and since copy editing is not as sexy as it sounds (really, there's way less glamour in proofreading than you'd expect), it was time for a career change.
So it's been 6 months. And things are pretty good. But the last couple of weeks have been excruciatingly slow. That is, I have no work. And since my entire day has to be billable, I have to scramble to find things to bill to (or else!).
Luckily, my boss found me a little task: name our new proprietary database. Easy, right? Uh, Bob. Or, no, wait, Excel. Dang! That's already taken. Actually, in the ONLY sort of direction or hint I've received (a vague email describing more or less what this person supposed the database would do), it was recommended we take an already-popular web product and mash it up with something agency branded. Very serious suggestions were: WikiPharma, or GoogleMed. Seriously. 1) This is no Wiki, so you can't call it "wiki"; 2) I think Google might possibly take issue with us using their name.
After several attempts to get in touch with the people who are actually developing this web site, no one has returned my calls or emails. So I get to name a database based on a third-person's interpretation on what the database MIGHT be like, looking at a beta version that so far hasn't returned any actual results, and oh, did I mention they want the name by Friday? Huh. No pressure.

Hurts so good

I'm going to let you in on a little secret about me: I love pain. I'm not talking about the strap-me-in leather-and-tie-me-up kind of pain*, but the kind that slowly chinks away at your ego. Yup, you got it: I play Scrabble. 98 letter tiles, 2 blanks, millions of combinations that somehow I can just never find. Limitless self-loathing.

My friend, Ed, keeps starting up Scrabble games with me on Facebook, and like a good little Bottom, I keep accepting. His first word usually tops 40 or so points. And I counter with something like "made" - 12 points [not actual score. I don't know if I mentioned I am also the foremost expert in creative scoring. See also, golf]. Currently, Ed and I are 4 words each into our latest game. And I'm about to reveal the humiliating truth: Ed, 110; me: 67.

Yesterday I logged back on to the game to put my word in. And as I moved the tiles to the board (IS, AM, JAM???), my hand suddenly released the mouse and my eyes moved to the table listing my and Ed's stats. Finally all the games, all the losses, the ranking that places me somewhere between a drooling parasite and Dubya. In response my hand goes back to the mouse, shaking I realize how Ed has systematically been destroying my very being. And I click PLAY WORD. 6 points. I stand poised and ready to be whipped again.

*Which reminds me of that time I treated my own cavity with a red-hot needle, but that's another story.