I returned home drained. Not even my feel good shoes saved me. I spent the day on a wretched financial spreadsheet that quickly got me seeing static instead of rows and rows and rows and rows of nasty little figures. When I reached for a Starbee in desperation, I didn’t even feel like drinking it and that’s saying something. My role on this project is coming to a close this week. My tasks have trickled into nothingness, the daily meetings progressively shrinking until they were no more. I cannot say I am sad, were it not for the need to find another role preferably before the whole pyramid starts fretting in order to shuffle me about into some other capacity. Onto the next crap! I am so spaced out that even brushing my teeth will be too much effort.
Meanwhile, I received a mail from an agent I had forgotten I had written to. S/he (you cannot really tell what they are when they call themselves RECEPTION) requests three chapters together with the proposal. Damn. I have the proposal, all 5,000 words of it, and that’s what my spec letter was plugging, but I don’t quite have three chapters. I have one. And a bit. For now.
