Multiple Personality Traits

Baby needs a day off.

This has been wonderful, don't get me wrong. I am THRILLED that the start of this year has brought me so many unexpected opportunities. I'm back in the game, bitches!

But it has been nonstop. Each day starts earlier than the last, compelled to get it all done. The vernacular of my work ethic simply does not allow for "piecemeal," "later" and "gently past due." Each day is a sprint. Since this entails completing tasks for at least four out of my six or seven (could it even be eight now?) freelance jobs in a given day, I have to creatively allot focus for each. Twitter is a daily multi-personality disorder, posting in different tones for different accounts.

But those "tones" have started having their own conversations with each other. I am lost. Don't understand what I mean? Imagine yourself as an actor who is doing a play and a movie and a TV series all at once, portraying different characters. One day you find your theater self addressing the movie character, who just made a cameo on the TV show. It's six o'clock and you realize all the characters went out for a drink and left you crashing, exhausted on your couch. Are they getting schnoggered and talking trash about you?

Some days do that to me.

At least the editorial work is wonderful. I love being an editor. I really do. But that is also its own set of unsustainable energies that could use a little R and R.

People tell me I look good. Thank you. But at my age, you only look as good as the quality of your eye cream.

An appointment near Central Park on the consummate spring day in New York City made me realize what I've been missing. The appointment finished earlier than expected, and I had gotten enough accomplished before I left the computer to do a little remote work in the park. Outside. Like, sitting in the warm, lithium rays of the sun, with cute little birds around me and flowering trees. I needed some nach-ah. As long as I could still see the buildings in the distance, I wasn't wandering too far, was I?

And you know what? I got everything done that day, even with that little break. I really need to start telling my inner drill sergeant to give it a rest. Maybe put some ambien in his coffee. The work will get done. As an old friend once said to me, when his grandma was on her deathbed, she never said, "I wish I'd worked more."

Now let me go before my bourbon account starts doing shots with the Irish vodka.