Had you ever had an itch that you just couldn’t scratch? Usually, it’s right in the middle of your upper back, and there’s no way you can reach it to scratch it without dislocating your goddamn shoulder. Just thinking about it makes you crazy, and oh holy Christ, it itches, just please MAKE IT STOP, or I’m going to tear my eyeballs out of my ever loving SKULL.
Usually, that’s about the time I find the nearest corner and start rubbing myself up and down, hopping around on one leg like a demented flamingo trying to get that one spot. If there’s not a wall handy, I usually run into the kitchen and grab this spectacularly pointy metal spatula to stick down the back of my shirt. Aw. Now that’s the stuff.
Just writing that has made me itchy. Crap.
My point, if there ever was one to begin with, is that waiting for the agency’s November 1 launch date is like having an itch that I just can’t scratch. My new boss (and is it ever weird to think about her that way) and I have been e-mailing back and forth, talking shop about what we want to accomplish during the first week. I’ve pitched my first three articles and described the features I want to write, and she’s totally enthusiastic about EVERYTHING I’ve shown her.
I’m besieged with ideas. While I’m in the shower in the morning, my brain lets loose a torrent of half-formed introductions for new posts and at night before I go to bed, I literally have to make sure there’s a notebook within arm’s reach so I can grab quickly if I wake up with a little snippet that could go in a post somewhere.
Not that any of that drivel makes sense to anyone else, but at least it’s somewhere I can keep track of my ideas. I’ve found that it’s not good to let those bad boys float around loose in my head for too long, because hungry plot bunnies like to swarm in and scoop them up, and then it’s like POOF! They never existed. Kinda like walking into a room and not having a clue why you were there in the first place.
The problem with having all these ideas rolling around in my head is that they seem to be crowding everything else out. I’ve gone three days without posting here now, and that’s because every time I sit down at the computer and open up a blank draft, the first thing that flows out of my fingers is always about BEAUTY. And beauty is a NO NO right now, since I don’t want to be wastin’ mah flavah here, where no one will ever see it.
I started a 9/11 remembrance post yesterday evening, and before I could finish recalling how I found out that some whackjob had flown a freaking plane into a building in New York, the post morphed into something about my search for the perfect shade of red nail polish.
Crass, I know. But COME ON. Last night, I had a dream that someone let me loose backstage at one of the big shows at New York Fashion Week, and I came out (with police escort) carrying bags upon bags of delightful beauty swag. One of those bags contained a complementary one liter bottle of OPI’s perfect red.
Then I woke up, and I realized my purloined stash was all in imagination.
The only thing that can heal that kind of wound is chocolate, and lots of it. Oh, and a grande vanilla latte. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to snuggle up to my Ulta catalog and watch House.