Deadline Hysteria

As I said in my last blog entry, I am going to post some "guest desks." Now, this one, belonging to Michele Hauf (see blog link over to the right), is that of a fellow Nocturne writer. Nocturne is the new paranormal line at Silhouette. She also writes Bombshells and Luna. She claims this is a "deadline" desk. Um, sorry. Unless it looks like a nuclear explosion occurred, complete with mushroom cloud over the desk, this ain't no deadline desk. :-) She also says she's listening to System of a Down, which is "frenetic." She says she's ignoring her checkbook, receipts and bills are fluttering about. She's in deadline mode.

Okay, now, as I said, this doesn't look like a deadline desk to me. Though she says it's messier in person (in "desk-dom"?) than in this photo. But that DID get me thinking about deadline hell, deadline hysteria, whatever you want to call it, whatever it looks like in your world.

For me, deadline hell is distinct. Showering goes right out the window, as does makeup, and anything that resembles clothing--it's all pjs, all the time. I usually do "full-face" every day, usually get dressed, my hair smelling like shampoo--until deadline hell. Then these things are really optional. They are deadlined right the hell out of my day.

Next, deadline hell involves quantities of coffee that makes my G.I. doctor (as in stomach guy) shudder.

Next, food really becomes . . . well, kind of iffy. I remember to eat maybe once a day. Usually when my stomach starts to REALLY hurt. Then it's cereal. See paragraph above. My doctor doesn't like to hear this, but . . .

I usually check in with my mother once a day. This is so my father doesn't tell her, "Call Erica and see what she is doing and why she hasn't called." I save her that trouble. I adore my mother. She is one of my best friends. But during deadline hell? Sorry Mom. Wrong number.

My children? Remember, there are four of them. I think. You see . . . they become these sort of little creatures who are merely there to f*** with my deadline. I kiss them and hug them and then the pleading begins. "PLEASE, I will PAY you FIVE dollars if you watch your baby brother and stop bickering with your sister."

So . . . that's sort of what deadline hell looks like from MY chair. Michele . . . cheers to you. Maybe that's also your deadline hell. But your desk is quite neat! Anyone else? What is your deadline hell like?