Uncreated Conscience

I'm wearing my "clever specs" in an attempt to feel clever. Thus far, it's been unsuccessful.

My brain feels completely and utterly wrung out. I am incapable of stringing together two words to form a coherent sentence. I used to believe that I had an endless capacity for writing and speech, but more and more I’m starting to believe that I have a quota of words that can be used in any given day, and the amount of editorial writing and reading I’ve had to do in the past month has completely tapped me out. (I’m not even sure what I just typed makes sense.)

When I approach verbal critical mass, I generally turn to other forms of expression, namely art or other visual mediums. Something that doesn’t require the act of reading because honestly, the words are starting to run together. In fact, I want the mindless pablum equivalent of entertainment. I don’t want to think anymore; it’s too hard! Usually this means I watch a lot of television in order to recover, but lately even TV’s taking too much effort. I just finished HBO’s Game of Thrones. (I will give the books a read when my brain isn’t so overworked.) I also just finished re-watching the 2005 reboot of Doctor Who, but that has also left me wrung out (mostly because the Tenth Doctor is THE SADDEST THING IN EXISTENCE). Working my way through the Eleventh Doctor’s episodes feels like too much work because I HATE AMY POND. (Seriously, I’ve never disliked a companion so much. I even ended up liking Martha, for all I resented her coming after Rose. But I ♥ Rory.)

So! Mindless activities. Somebody suggest some. Because my poor, tired brain can’t think of any on its own.

I think the Tenth Doctor’s expression pretty much sums my entire life since BEA. Blog silence reigns supreme. Why? Oh nothing. I’m only drowning in work, is all. Reading and editing and rejecting and acquiring and launching and…gaah! Isn’t summer supposed to be a slow time for publishing? What happened to that?

At some point, I would like to walk you guys through my editing process, but that may have to wait until my editing process is actually done.

Halp. I could use a TARDIS myself these days…

And if you are all wondering why my tweets and Tumblr and blog have suddenly become inundated with Doctor Who related things, it’s because I’ve been rewatching the old series when I need a break from work. Sometimes you just have to shut off your brain and contemplate Christopher Eccleston’s accent and David Tennant’s sideburns.

Internet, internet, I have meant to blog, truly I have. I have been mostly sidetracked by other things. Mostly, work. And books. And running. And…other things. I often think of topics or ideas to share with you all, but then forget it over the course of the day, which is filled with interesting things (like story conferencing with authors) and not-so-interesting things (like filling out mass market tip sheets).

What have I been up to? Not much. Psychic Roommate and I have been running our butts off all around the city and have just finished our last race of the year. We are now officially qualified for the 2011 ING New York City marathon. (And now I am pondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.)

In addition, I have seen this movie:

Black Swan, a movie that is totally up my alley.

I have pondered the origins of the phrase “up my alley” (and English idioms in general). Which, incidentally, Black Swan totally is. It’s an artsy psychological horror film about ballet. I love every word-concept of that sentence. “Artsy”, “psychological”, “horror”, and “ballet”. It sometimes surprises people how much I love the grotesque and macabre, but remember, I’m the girl who loves gothic fiction, haunted houses, creepy stories, lurid melodrama, and feeling unsettled. After all, Halloween is my favourite holiday.

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I am dire need of a divan, a fainting couch, a sofa, a futon–anything. When I first signed on for this gig, I knew there would be a lot of reading involved, but I didn’t quite factor in the occupational hazards. The volume of reading I can deal with, but it’s how I read that’s starting to catch up to me. Reading while sitting at my desk wreaks havoc on my neck and shoulders. At the moment I’ve jerry-rigged an arrangement where I lean the back of my desk chair against one angle of my desk while I prop my feet up on the opposite angle. This sort of approximates a reclining angle, but any sudden movement and I’m head over heels on the floor.

White-Harp Brrrrito! Also doubles as a neck pillow.

White-Harp often comes to work with me now to double as a neck pillow. Finally found a way to earn her keep, oh that Lazy Harp.

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If you want a life. No, seriously, your time will no longer be your own. There are so many things I need to do (like finish my friend Tara‘s commission!) and even more things I’d like to do, but ever and always there will be a growing number of manuscripts lurking in Tomas the Ereader, plaguing my guilty conscience.

That's my pouty face because I can't do the things I want.

Remember those days when you were a bright-eyed, immediately-declared English major, fresh to New York University and living in a world filled with possibility, when your ability to explicate great works of literature had such meaning and significance? When you were going to take over the universe with the brilliance of your prose, the clarity with which you illuminated the inarticulate vagaries of emotion? When you were going to convince the average Joe that yes, books were important because within them contained entire lives?

Yeah.

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The building in which I work has hired cleaners this clean the windows this morning. Ordinarily I don’t mind (aside from the very great fear I may witness one of them falling 26 floors to his death), but today they are using what looks like a chainsaw and sounds like 1000 fingernails scratching chalkboards mixed with a dentist drill to scour away the accumulated grout in the cracks.

I think this may very well constitute torture.

This morning I trimmed my hair somewhat unevenly to get rid of what I’d dubbed my “mullet tail.” It looks much better now (despite the slight unevenness) and I’ve gotten many compliments on it at work. I may never grow out my hair again, even if it I have to go back to the salon every six weeks to maintain this because, my god, having short hair is really amazing.

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There is an overwhelming smell of cornchips in here.

And I mean overwhelming.

It can’t be Sisco. He has the overwhelming smell of men’s cologne, and it can’t be C either, because she put on far too much eau de toilette this morning.

I have the sneaking suspicion it might be my boss.

But exactly how do you tell a woman of formidable proportions (and I mean formidable) that she needs to shower without her sitting on my head and squashing me to death?

Where’s that coffee-flavoured candy? I don’t drink coffee, but I’ll settle for any substitute.

I feel like George’s fiancee from Seinfeld. You know, the one who licked too many envelopes and died? That will be me at the end of this week. I seriously have no saliva left.

Por no razon, yo voy a escribir todo el entry en espanol. No me preguntees “porque?” porque no se. Me siento que lo haciendo. Si tu quisiera una translacion, me pregunta una otra vez. Estoy perezosa. Espero que mi gramatica tienes razon. Si no, lo siento. La ultima vez que yo saque una clase de espanol fue dos anos pasado. Y cuando yo saque la clase (creo que es necesario para usar el imperfecto pero no puedo recorder como constructir el imperfecto), no era una estudiante buena. Me gusta hablar en espanol, pero no me gusta pensar sobre el idioma. Ai, necesito practicar. No puedo recorder como se dicen muchas palabras. Es pathetico. (Yo tambien crear palabras nuevas. Si hay palabras que no existan, tengo solo una cosa: masticame.)

O, y Lethe, chica? No puedo ayudarte con tu frances. Porque? Hablara en la lengua de amor:

Je ne parle pas francais parce-que je suis une etudiante d’espangol.

P.S. No me gusta nada los Macs. No puedo usar los acentos! Necesito usar acentos!

I found out that I’m working this Saturday. Working. The day The Order of the Phoenix is released. Which means that instead of spending the day reading the long-awaited next installment in the Harry Potter series I’m stuck sitting at a mariachi festival at the Hollywood Bowl, arranging interviews, directing media, and such.

It bites.

What was I thinking when I applied for this internship?