Ow.

What a day. Work, and more work, and to top it off, a side of work.

I can't handle much more of this. I was talking to my ex tonight while we went over some copy-edits and she said something about keeping the book for an extra day to make more edits. I thought I was going to lose my mind. We were sitting in her stinking condo, in which she has not turned on the air conditioning; it was actually hotter in there than it was outside. There were dirty socks lying over the vents. When I left I breathed in the smog and was refreshed. It took an hour and a half to go over two chapters because she wanted to talk about all manner of things other than the copy-edits. She wanted to talk about vegetarianism, and stupid pro-war mothers forcing their sons to enlist, and my wallet chain and the glory days of the gay-boi code, and her cat, and and and...god, I wish she had a better friend than me. Poor soul. No wonder she's suicidal.

I took a walk at lunch today. I shouldn't have; there was too much to do. Oh well. My brain is cracked. I put on David Gray and walked to the Carew Tower alone and rode the creaking, ancient elevator up forty-five stories, then walked up five more flights of stairs and out onto the roof. I looked out over the city listening to that morose music, staring at the mess we've made of things. Do you know, there actually used to be trees here? Of *course* I thought about jumping. I can't go up there and not think about it. Having those thoughts, turning over in my head how god damned insanely fucking good it would feel to vault over the railing and bite it, that allows me to go back to work and apply my taxed brain to the complexities of this book project. Thinking about death, it's like masturbating, but I can do it in public. All the relief I need, right there, fifty stories above the dirty city streets and the pigeons and the cars and the statues of the fountain. Freedom.

If you click on the photo for the larger view, it's rather more impressive. In the grander scheme of things.

I wonder how long it's going to take me to recover from this. I can't remember going this off my rocker before when I was indexing. Then again, I wasn't working as a proofreader during the day and indexing at night.

Enough woe-is-me. I'm going to bed. (Wait, a little more woe-is-me). Hopefully tonight I'll be able to sleep, since last night my stomach hurt so bad I could only lay in a certain position that caused the least amount of pain but it wasn't comfortable enough to sleep in and I went to work this morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.

Okay, end woe-is-me. Soon. This project will be over soon.

I wish I could give credit where credit was due for this genius .gif, but I don't remember where I got it. It applies.