So what happened next was, I became an into expert on the Sydney Film Festival, came over all what the fuck I'll sort something out tomorrow, felt suddenly tired, The Couch beckoned (seductive bitch), I decided a short nap before the play would refresh me, and voila! Sleep!
I was very pissed off because the play was one I had been looking forward to and the invitation had the words "Gala", "Media", "Opening" and Night" attached. Basically, free booze 'n schmooze. Damnit.
The artistic director of the festival is hard to pin down, so I've emailed some questions to him via his publicist, I have a vague idea of the direction the story will take and now have to write the story tomorrow night after ANOTHER gruelling day on this mega catering job. So, hopefully answers will be back by the time I finish work (shattered) on Friday night, first draft will emerge later that night, more mega catering Saturday, second draft Saturday night, more goddamned food and people on Sunday, final draft sent to the mag on Sunday night.
In amongst it all yesterday, my Men's Health editor was on the phone and that story is tantalisingly close to being sorted. He has to get back to me with details of the photo shoot, I have to confirm with the six subjects of the story... I actually really quite like deadline stress. I like the phone ringing. I like all the things I never used to like. I want more. I want more deadlines, goddamnit. This is exactly what I had in mind when I quit my job.
What's that Smirnoff? You want to enter me? Okay, coming my love...
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2 comments:
Hey Lee, mikolai here, just checking out your blog. I'm in deadline hell at the moment myself. I'll email you properly tomorrow.
Ha. Mikolai. Do you come here often?
I don't know which is worse - you being in deadline hell and making the time to read someone's blog, or me being in deadline hell and bothering to write a blog post about it.
It's getting a bit silly now. Best write another post about it...
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