Lately I've been frustrated at work -- I feel like I'm carrying the whole paper on my shoulders some days. I'm constantly fixing misspelled headlines, glaring factual errors, horrid cutline writing, and a whole lot of Journalism 101 stuff that the editors I supervise should be catching, or not committing in the first place. Plus I'm stumbling onto duplicated stories, outdated stories, etc., mostly through dumb luck, and I start my week writing corrections for the problems that occured on my days off. I feel like I'm juggling a thousand balls and if I drop one, they'll all come tumbling down. I should be able to hand these balls off to the copy editors, but not only can a lot of them not juggle, but they're throwing more balls into the mix.
Anyway.
This morning, I was struggling to stay upright on a lurching, crowded train when I realized -- courtesy of a waft of cheap whiskey -- that the guy standing next to me was drunk. And from the looks of his nose (Karl Malden had nothing on this guy), being soused at 9 a.m. is probably an everyday occurence for him.
Perspective point one: I may have to remind my desk way too often to use spellcheck, but at least I don't supervise anyone who routinely shows up to work staggering drunk.
Perspective point two, courtesy of Stacy: I have my up and down days, but at least I don't hate my job so much that the only way to get through the day is to consume a box of Boone's Farm for breakfast.
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2 comments:
Of course lately at work, some mornings seem like they'd be a lot better if I had started them with a box of Boone's Farm.
many more of those mornings are coming ...
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