Editing, Halfway Through
The papers line my bed, the ink staining my fingers, only 400 pages more to go.
I’ve chosen not to go to White Linen Night; it’s not my crowd and I only unpacked my linen in time to iron it, shower, dress up, take an UberX for $20, miss half of the action, and just see everything I want to see later next week.
At least tonight I’m getting work done. By hand. My shoulder aches and though I’ve planned to stay up until 2am (or 3am) to knock out as much as I can, I might only last another hour. Tops.
On my desk sits a commendation letter from the Secretary of Defense, one that’s a few years too late, but something to hang in a custom frame, next to one of my university degrees. (Already too many. An LL.B. from UMontréal; a M.Econ. from MIT; two LL.M. degrees from UMontréal; and soon to be two more from Loyola.) The last letter I framed and have hanging was my mandate letter from the Prime Minister — the English version. (I keep the French version locked in my safe, just in case.) Yes, my mother is very proud of me; she’d be prouder if I became a doctor, though.
I keep meaning to write someone back about my own TBI symptoms, so we can compare notes. It’s someone, who despite sharing this debilitating and painful experience with me, is far too beautiful to have this or to compete with me on my degrees. Okay, I Facebook stalked someone. I had a moment where I wished I was on a date in Brooklyn, the two of us unironically wearing sunglasses at night. But I keep forgetting to write back.
A Tinder match with whom I share multiple friends inviting me to come stay at her new house tonight, a bottle of champagne and whiskey awaits. Hopefully a warm bed, too. I’m in a place where I could use all three: alcohol, conversation, and someone to sleep with, or at least next to. And a nurse of all people. Maybe I’ll get that shoulder fixed. Maybe I’ll get a lot of this mess out with a new drinking buddy. Maybe this new Tinder date will turn out like a lot of Tinder dates, waking up at someplace strange and trying to piece the night together. Hopefully, all of the above. It’s midnight and I’m kicking myself for not saying yes a few hours ago. Hopefully the offer still stands for later this week.
Midnight. A heat advisory for the next week straight—as is New Orleans during the summer months—the entire area surrounded by heavy rain and thunderstorms. Another 800 pages follow this stack that I’m giving up on tonight. Then back to the Studio Kippenberger project, one that requires a bit of coding, but nothing major. A strong worth ethic and great at multitasking. I should put that in my Tinder profile, and hopefully someone will get the barely-veiled entendre.
