Still no end in sight

I am SICK of hedge funds! I've worked eight hours solid today and I still have masses to do. The commissioning editor finally e-mailed me today with the missing style guide for the references section. I have successfully contracted this out to a trainee editor (which will save me several hours). I explained to the commissioning editor that the work was going to take even longer than expected - she'll be lucky to receive it by Tuesday lunchtime, at this rate. I have still have 30-odd pages of MS to edit, plus all the outstanding graphs, tables and illustrations. And, of course, I'll need to check over the edited references when they come back to me, and go through all my flagged-up queries and prepare an author query sheet.

I think I'll be cracking open a bottle of Moet when I finally sign off this project.

I had masses of interruptions today - my e-mail inbox was overflowing, for starters. Like many people, when that little symbol flashes in my system tray, I have to go look at what's coming in. If I don't, the symbol distracts me and disturbs my concentration. And besides, I don't want to miss anything really important, like the arrival of a missing style guide.

E-mail arrived from my graphic designer - the first "final" draft of the ad is ready for our client. I had a look at the PDF, approved it and rang him back so he could send it to the client. We had a quick chat about this and that, then rang off so we could both get on with work.

A chavvy guy rang me to ask about my services. It turned out he was writing his autobiography and wanted me to edit it. I gently explained that he needed to find an agent in order to secure a publisher - it would be unethical of me to take up to £2,000 off him to edit his book when he has no publishing deal. And besides, the publisher normally bears the cost of editing and proofreading. I told him how to find an agent and hung up.

Someone else offered me a free book on feature writing, which I accepted. The proviso is I have to write a review of it for some publication or other. Unpaid, no doubt. No problem, I'm happy to do that. I just hope the book is good.

Now I'm sitting here nattering with my beloved P, sipping a chilled sherry and trying to unwind for the weekend.

I'm going to try very hard not to think about work over the weekend, as the onslaught will resume at 8am on Monday morning...

Fried brains

Sadly, not a reference to one of Hannibal Lecter's more disgusting recipes.

I've had one of those days.

I was up and about bright and early this morning, and by 9.45am I had sifted through a fair bit of e-mail, surfed the net, done a couple of sudoku puzzles, drunk a pot of tea and sorted some paperwork on my desk. So I headed out the door for a meeting with my lovely graphic designer and our mutual client. He looked rather startled when I knocked on the door and walked into his office. Unsurprisingly, as our meeting is for 10.00am tomorrow... I had one of those "duh!" moments and scrambled around in my handbag for my diary. Sure enough, he was right. It's tomorrow. I stopped for a very quick chat then made a hasty and embarrassed exit, as he was expecting someone at 10.00. Just not me.

I can only put the absentmindedness down to my episode on Monday.

Reader, I have epilepsy. According to the law, it's a disability. But I don't see it as one. I was diagnosed in my mid-30s, some 9 years ago and it's never been a major problem for me. I was very well controlled on medication until just over 2 years ago, when a blow to my head retriggered my seizures. Now I get one or two a year. It's no big deal. The biggest disability is the loss of my driving licence. To be fair, I don't really need it, living where I do, but it would be nice to get it back one day. The trouble is, you have to be seizure-free for 12 months and I never quite make it before a seizure decides to strike again and I start counting the days again.

I had seen my neurologist last week and everything was fine. No seizures since last November and we were hoping I'd make it to my next consultation in December without any more episodes and be able to reapply to the DVLA. Fat chance. On Monday, after I'd written my application letter to bag the prize of editing Skin Two magazine, I had a small seizure.

I say small - it's all relative. This one only lasted a few seconds but knocked me out for the rest of the day. I got no work done and couldn't even take a shower until my beloved P came home. I was even knackered watching the tennis on the tv. And I gouged a lovely tramline in my face while writhing on the floor. I shouldn't complain. I've rarely had even a semi-serious injury. The worst was a cracked rib and a dose of concussion one time. Although I did nearly burn the house down that time as I'd just lit the gas cooker...

But I digress. I've been feeling out of whack all week as a result of those few seconds disruption to my brain's normal electrical activity. It's no surprise I mixed up the meeting. I'm not normally so disorganised.

Back home, I had to rethink my plans for the day. I decided to price up the complicated editorial job on offer. I quickly realised I needed to ask some questions so I fired off an e-mail to the person who is commissioning the work. While I was waiting for her to respond, I bit the bullet.

Yes, it was time to close my accounts for tax year 2005/2006. I've been putting it off for ages, but I had promised my accountant I would do it this month. And as the rest of June is likely to be taken up with editing financial books and watching Wimbledon, it really had to be today.

Five hours later, I was finished. I logged out of Sage with a sense of accomplishment and a feeling that I may have just fried my brains a little more. I'm a wordsmith, not a number-cruncher...

Heat generates brainwave

Phew! It's hot here today, but I don't mind - I've been pottering in my shady office with a fan running full blast.

Thankfully, because we were away last week, I've not had a huge amount of work booked in. The last two chapters of the book I loathe (the one on global development) have still not arrived - just as well, as my mind is still in Paris and I couldn't face several hundred pages of academic waffle. Monday I spent some time proofreading phase 1 of a website for which I wrote the copy. I've done several small-to-medium proofreading jobs scattered through the week for one of my favourite regular clients. Another regular client has been nominated for a business award then had a panic attack because she had to write an account of her start-up for the award committee - she's dyslexic so I proofread her stuff for her. That was a nice job as it involved a bit of rewriting as well - she has a great business so I was chuffed that she was nominated. And I've been doing a few pieces of substantive editing for a hypnotherapist - he's very sweet and I've heard from another hypnotherapist that I know that he's very good at what he does, but he can't write at all. He's writing a book of case histories, which I'm basically rewriting for him - this is a very interesting project.

My lovely graphic designer just rang to book me for another joint client meeting next week - more copywriting looms, this time for product info sheets and matching web pages, plus possibly some industry advertisements. My GD also mentioned that he wants to update his website and get me to do the copywriting. That's great because I've just asked him to rebuild my own website within the next month. I guess we'll be working for each other at a discount. While I had him on the phone, I ran my brainwave past him - seeing as we work together so much, I thought we could do a joint e-mail newsletter. It's all terribly vague at the moment but it could be a good joint marketing effort. It needs careful thought, so the GD suggested a pub meeting to go through my idea thoroughly. He's interested anyway.

I'm also busy pitching for a regular editorial gig with a company that is publishing talks and speeches made in the financial sector. As an ex-minutetaker and ex-financial editor, this is right up my street... fingers crossed.

It's not all been good this week - our cleaner's just handed in her notice. We have one month to find a new domestic goddess who will be willing to clean a very untidy and fag-strewn office, do the ironing and generally keep the rest of the house spick and span. I should point out that the messy, ash-ridden half of the workspace belongs to the beloved P - even though I smoke, I'm pretty tidy and organised. Still, I need a new cleaner who I can trust not to disrupt me when I'm working. Our current Mrs Mopp is very good at knowing when to knock and we have an arrangement for a 30-minute shut-down in my office so that she can get in to clean it. Training a new char is not something I look forward to.

Worse - the World Cup has started. I loathe football (and so does the beloved P, I'm good at picking blokes that don't like footy) and now I shall have to endure a month of disrupted schedules for EastEnders and trying to find something half-decent to watch on any channel on the rare occasions I fancy being a couch potato. Still, at least I won't be distracted from working.

Until Wimbledon starts...