There are no bad owners, only bad dogs

2004-12-16 little time.

This is the week that I should have been enjoying tropical breezes, fresh seafood, muscular, tanned young men wearing grass skirts, and pineapple-y cocktails in Hawaii. I couldn't go because one of my many bosses said I'd be too busy.

This is what I've done this week:
Monday: A lot of typing. Not of anything original; transcribing is what I was actually doing. See, in this bidness, we use a lot of reprints of previously published material. In the US, our company has a whole raft of people who are paid to do nothing but this transcription. They are expert typists/keyboarders. They are fast, they are good, and there are all kinds of forms to fill out and tracking of metrics. Here, there are no such people. If an editor uses a reprint, s/he is expected to submit it in Word. So no type-y type-y people. So I typed. I have two bachelor's degrees and a master's degree, and I'm a typist.

Tuesday: Goofed off, stared at my screen, tried to come up with a way to make what I'm proposing sound more complex and convoluted because that's what I now call "Oxford-style." A simple solution? Not interested. Answered some emails. Tried to convince people that it's stupid to submit manuscript in Powerpoint. Failed. Tried to buy stamps at post office. Failed. Drank with an Australian, accidentally got drunk.

Wednesday: More staring. More goofing off. More typing. More contemplation of the meaninglessness of life. Got homesick. Missed Greg. Missed dogs. Missed others.

Today: This.

Yup. Too busy for Hawaii.

Tomorrow: No real work happens here because this is Christmas Party day. Each division has a huge party at a big fancy schmancy hotel or other venue. So people go eat a three-course meal and get drunk, then usually don't come back to work.

So much to do...

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