Hazy Days of Summer

This week has been a blur.

Sunday I worked all day and stayed up until 2; still didn't finish the proposal I was supposed to turn in ages ago, and said I'd turn in Monday. I'm used to a lot of work and hoop-jumping before anything gets green-lit, but this one is killing me.

Monday: Up until 3 am working: interviews, pitches, and actual writing. Filed daily piece. Tried not to panic about how many days left of this and how much of a mess I might make of everything.

Tuesday: Lined up interviews for piece due in a week, because although I'll wait until the last minute to write it, you can't wait until the last minute to even start finding people to interview. Up until 2 am to finish story due Wednesday. (And did.) Filed daily piece. Tried not to panic, etc.

Wednesday: Stayed up until four a.m. on a piece that is killing me that was due today. I pulled an all-nighter doing the original one July 5. It was kicked back to me three weeks  later. And now again. Slightly embarrassed. This is not typical (for me), and I've never appeared in this magazine. Conducted interview for another story due next week at 10 pm, because that's when he could do it. Gave self a hard time for not doing fiction writing. Debated skipping NYC Fringe performance to which I'd contributed on Kickstarter, but then decided that I'd probably be up until the same time that night anyway, and would be sad I'd missed it. (Yes, I would have been. It was lovely and affecting.) Waited out torrential rains in East Village cafe with wifi – and loads and loads of cupcakes (behind glass; I didn't have any.) Filed daily piece. Panic, web-surfing, debating of acquiring 9 to 5 job that can be left at the office.  Hoppity-hopped through midtown (a true story, coming shortly).

Today: Up at 8 am in attempt to finish piece as had promised editor I'd turn it in today. Dealt with a handful of particularly annoying and demanding sources for another piece. Started panicking about meeting I have next week – what I will wear, how much of an idiot I will sound like, convinced self it will be cancelled anyway. Got back to work. Filed daily piece. Lined up more interviews for other stories due; tried not to think about what else I signed on to do this month blah blah panic.Still miles to go tonight and it's near midnight.

Not a typical week, at least not a typical week I remember from any time recently.

I thought about posting to say I was still here and not bingeing, but it felt a little the-whole-world-is-Beth-centric to me.

But, you know, I am still here and haven't binged.

Somewhat unbelievably. Must be careful, though, since I suspect the urge may be quite strong once I get through this – or to self-sabotage before the meeting I have next week. And I'm going not just off grid but completely out of cell phone and wifi range for a couple of days with friends I have not been away with before. Yes, there is a bit of panic on my part. But I can't never go anywhere again, so here goes nothing.

***

So the hippity-hop through midtown?

When last we left our heroine, she was sporting a cast on her left foot. On Wednesday, when she went to the doctor, she didn't so much forget a shoe as it did not actually occur to her that she might need one. Whether this is sheer idiocy or pessimism or a mix of both – well, you make the call.

Cast comes off (also somewhat unbelievably). I thought for sure I couldn't be the only person ever to be this dumb/pessimistic in history of the practice, but apparently I am. Office assistant just looked at me like I was crazy and went back to what she was doing.

And so if you saw a girl in a long blue dress and one pink-and-white sneaker hopping down Seventh Avenue (in the rain) to the Penn Station taxi rank... well, you probably thought exactly what I was thinking: What the hell?

Day 43.