Myra Lee

2003-07-31 - 11:20 p.m.

Oh. dear. god. Hours upon hours of copyediting does strange things to the mind. The glut of reason produces monsters. This is me right now:

I've been working on the freelance gig for dream company all night. And as I�ve spent the night at the "dining room" table pouring over the Chicago Manual of Style, the dictionary, and The Grouchy Grammarion, Erik has been sitting across from me playing the same atonal guitar riff for the last several thousand hours. The same riff. Over and over. And he�s been playing an electric guitar plugged into his laptop, hearing his creation through his headphones, hearing it with all the glorious effects of his recently cracked music software. He has not been hearing the non-glorious room audio sounds of the acoustic clacking of the guitar pick smacking the steel strings. Over and over. It's been driving me insane.

Earlier today, in the midst of a copyediting conundrum, I e-mailed an old friend (who edits textbooks and has too many degrees) to pose some editorial queries. We e-mailed throughout the day, and he told me about his great new girlfriend, a metalsmith. A metalsmith! Then he sent me some photos of things she made - a cheerful silver alien, some sort of futuristic cooking device, a couch. The metal objects were very, very cool. Tonight, on a whim, I searched for him on that modern-day marvel, Friendster, and he was on there. And he had listed my old band as one of his favorites! For some reason, this made me tear up. I guess it was because I miss playing music so much. And because I really miss people when they drift out of my life. Or maybe it was because I'm a total sucker for approval.


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