I've been at the tail end of a job I've had (and loved) for over three years, and, though I am not proud of this, I find myself putting aside the smaller remaining tasks of it in the dire need to create a forward momentum before it finishes altogether and leaves me with that here's your new life-out to sea feeling that I do not do well with at all.
So I was meant to have handed in two things yesterday, a merchant letter and a series of three ads for the magazine, and while the former arrived without incident, the latter was not so lucky. Pushed aside by a trip to the doctor, a day of organizing books, making signs, labels and a parcel ready for MoCCA and my book launch, I decided to have dinner and a rest and then finish them off.
A common enough tactic for me.
Well, i made a spot of dinner, invited Hitchcock's "Stage Fright" to join me, and promptly fell asleep during both.
(My sleep patterns over the last month have become Absolutely Whack. I do NOT understand.)
Dreamt that N.S (my managing editor) had invited me for dinner. Her partner offered me a cappucino (which was odd), and then a thousand men on horseback invaded their backyard (for some reason N'S's new computer was on a raised podium under their gazebo), seeking the ad.
I jumped up on a noble* steed, brandishing a rapier, and charged them, riding through sewage water (my own dream-world self-punitive tactic, obviously) and exclaiming "By God as my Witness You Shall Have Your Ad Now LET THEM FINISH DINNER!"
Which sees me up at this time, the very time I usually go to bed, in fact, to finish the ad.
(heheh) N.S, I think the t-shirt was "stef lenk: master hyperbolist"