A "comedic" approach to how I feel. The modern "deer in headlights."

Dear Ether,

Have you ever been afraid to face anything so you do the absolute worst thing possible—-nothing at all?  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I’ve been researching my assignment for about 10 days and have felt disorganized, confused, unmotivated and anxious ever since I began working on it.  I’m not like this. I’m normally very organized, pushy and get things done with precision.  With this job I’ve felt like a deer in headlights.  Stuck just staring at oncoming traffic waiting to be hit by a car.  All I ever talk about is how desperate I am for a career, a future.  I’ve spent the past few months killing myself trying to make contacts, and now that I have something that I should be psyched about, I’m panicking.  Why?  What’s wrong with me?  Why can’t I ever be content?

So, this piece has to be about 2,000 words (it’ll probably be cut down…but that’s what I’m going to present).  My god, many of my past blog entries have been 1,500 words!  Should be a snap, right? I need to write this in a day and a half.  And yet, I feel like I need a lifetime.  And the joke is, this feature is about FASHION. Not Iraq or the plague. A fucking trend in the shoe world.  And yet, I’ve had to take anti-anxiety medication, had to stay in bed with a lavender candle lit and ponder the article in my famous duvet prison uniform.  

Am I this delicate?  How the hell am I going to survive in this world?  I mean, I really seem to be falling apart.  English gent, my family, my psyche.  What’s next? I thought as we got older we got wiser.  I feel just as stupid as I did a decade ago, except I need Botox and a good personal trainer.  God.  Even my blog has turned into a soap box for me to stand on and moan.  What’s happened to me? 

People are probably disgusted by me.  Insulted that I’m even complaining.  There are real problems out there.  But (and I know this seems so self-indulgent), for me, this IS my world and it is overwhelming.  No, I’m not starving or homeless—but can’t we argue that things are relative?  That in our own small circles things are painful?  What may seem stupid to you, may be like a huge phobia for me.  I miss the girl I was who posted 2 weeks ago.  I want her back.

So, tomorrow is D-day.  The start of my article.  God, my heart just started beating out of my chest when I looked at the screen and saw that I wrote that.  Me and this computer, boy.  This ol’ Mac has seen me through every state possible.  If this sucker could talk, I’d have to remove its larynx.   

Off to, fuck knows, think about the inevitable.  What a fool I am.  I’ve wasted so much of my life worrying about stupid things and yet I keep perpetuating this lost time and can’t stop myself.  Like a fucking Greek tragedy—yet not even that epic.  

Hey, if you’re sick of my rants and complaints and miss the old One of 365–check out my sidebar and catch up with some old posts you haven’t read.  That’s my best advice for now.  Again, sorry gang.  Read my “mission statement” for this blog.  I never said it was always going to be pretty.

PS: Happy 1st night of Hanukkah.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

I know exactly how he feels. He's been working all day long and he's just ready to punch out. ME TOO! Except my mom didn't pack me a snack like his did Though HE DID get dressed (dapper sport coat) and I'm still in my PJ's. Ahhh, the glam life of a freelance writer!

Dear Ethers,

I just finished. Just.  I am so tired I never want to talk about sh-sh-sh-shoes again!  But the article is done and dusted, E-mailed and sent and I hope my Editor likes it. The sad casualty, as I unfortunately assumed, was the Wish List.  But, I’m thinking maybe I’ll do a rain check mid-week or, again, make it up to you with a super kick-ass version next Monday.  

Can I ask a huge favor?  A very huge favor indeed?  Can I go to sleep?  I think I’m starting to get arthritis in my fingers from typing, my rear-end is on fire from sitting so long in one chair and I think my eyes are ready for a new Px from the glare of the screen all day—actually—day—what IS day?  

I have SO much I want to talk to you guys about–mainly just some nutty party stuff, and my usual worries (LOL) but alas, that’s why you’re my buddies, right?  I want to do it justice and you know when I write a post—I WRITE A POST (oh, you know you Ethers LOVE my 1,500 word ones!!!).  So, let me rest my weary body and mind and eat something inappropriate that keeps me further from getting into cute jeans and I will make it up to you tomorrow.  I promise.

As always…..

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

This article is going to be the end of me. And on shoes, nonetheless....and I LOVE shoes! So, sorry for the rambling below (I needed the break from writing!).......but hey, how badass is this Chanel heel that our Queen Of England, Madonna wore? Now these really are KILLER heels!

Dear Ethers,

A really short one tonight.  My apologies.  Tomorrow could be the same (yes, the victim might be the Wish List!).  I have two enormous feature pieces I am writing that are both due on Tuesday and I am having a really rough time with them.  One is re-working a piece that was really creative (written like a story). It was  bought (yes!) and then my Editor wanted me to add a philosophical element to it that required getting quotes from major companies (which you have to chase, chase, chase) and re-arranging the piece to keep its integrity and also allow it to make sense (no!).  It’s tricky when you sell a piece to a major newspaper.  Once they buy it, they can be cheeky and keep asking you to make little tweaks until it has elements in your work that you never intended.  I really loved my original and wrote it on a whim when a cool event in the fashion world caught my fancy and made me wonder.  It just poured from my fingers and I was so pleased with it.  So was my Editor, but then she wanted to turn it into a leading feature for the week before Christmas—a very savory slot—and needed it to be a more powerful statement story and not as “fun.”  Hey, I get paid per word and am pretty damned psyched, but still, I feel stuck because I don’t think what she’s asking exactly works.  Sighhh…but, this is going to be a big deal and I just started working with this paper (and lord knows I need the dosh and exposure) so I’m not going to say no.  And, hey, a good writer is always one who can take a deep breath and hit the delete button and make edits.  

As for the other piece, you’d think it would be so easy!  I had to interview 3 major shoe designers and ask them each the same 7 questions.  Then, all I have to do is formulate a story about shoes—and hey, even easier, I get to pick the idea of the theme.  I’m allowed a two paragraph lead-in and then I have to weave their answers in cleverly.  Simple, right?  WRONG.  I can’t believe of all things SHOES are giving me a nightmare (maybe it’s my new relationship with shoe gal!).  I think I’ve written and re-written this feature about 4 times and have erased them all without saving one draft.  It’s the main story for a special on shoes for the November 15th issue and I am having is-SHOES!    It’s my first assigned piece from my Editor and I want to show her I’m really good.  She says she’s tried out loads of freelancers and they’ve sucked and I don’t want to fail her.  Maybe she’s cursed me like many a women have cursed a man.  You know, talking about how past boyfriends have stunk in bed right before you and she are about to sleep together.  All sorts of thoughts probably go through their minds and then it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.  UGH!

Anyway, the fuckers are both due Tuesday, 9AM PST and I am shaking in my boots.  I’ve never been this nervous about my work before.  I think I’ve had the confidence kicked out of me by so many Manolo’s (ha ha…ermm…ha) that I’ve lost my One of 365 pride.  It’s also nerve wracking when you know that one company you work for just fired a shed load of people and are making serious budget cuts which trickle down to you and this might be a way to make up for that loss of much needed cash.  

So, will you forgive me today?  My eyes are crossing from staring at my Mac—I even got desperate enough and tried to distract myself from writing by taking crazy pics with my Photo Booth on my computer.  I’m proud to say that I have wonderful Warhol-esque images of me cross-eyed and sticking my tongue out.  

I have to dish about the party. Some nutters were there and I’ll let you now Mr. Depp, sadly, didn’t show.  But a few famous faces did and a crazy Arab prince arrived and I have a hilarious story about that which will make you wonder if I am lying about some of the crazy shit that happens in my life.  

If you asked me when I was a kid if I would be 29, sitting in front a computer on a Sunday night ready to burn all my heels as a coup d’etat against the governing body of shoes or that I would even be obnoxious enough to use the expression coup d’etat instead of speaking English, then I think I would have tried to buckle down on my math and science skills and tried to become a therapist (I’m nuts, remember—and they say it helps one to know one—maybe I would have been great!).  

Jesus, for a quick post this thing is already almost 900 words with my ramblings.  I can’t ever write a short tid-bit, can I

Sorry for complaining, but it sure was nice to write about something else besides heel height and balls of feet.  And, seriously, no matter how bad this writer’s block is, it certainly beats the red carpet.  BLECHHHHHHHHH!  Sighhh……crystal ball, I beg of you, where will I be in the next 5 years??

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365