Words have been very very good to me recently.
It goes without saying that I’m a word geek, since I make my meager living as a freelance editor, but lately I’ve surpassed myself. The first, and most important thing to have happened was that one of the folks I do work for suddenly decided I rock, or am made of honey, or crack, or whatever they prefer, because they went from sending me one wee job a month to sending me lots and lots and lots of interesting work. This causes me to doodle their name and mine inside little twisty hearts with arrows through them on my notebook cover.
Then, I remembered I still had a gift card to a Major National Bookstore Chain, of which type I normally disdain, for I am the defender of the independently-owned bookstore (I know, I’m doing a pretty lousy job so far), so finally finally I went and bought my very own copy of The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition (I use this vital reference book every day at work). For the last year, I’ve been using a copy from the only local library who didn’t seem to grok that this is a reference book, and should not be loaned out. They loan it out to me, I renew the holy hell out of it, then return it for a day or two so I can take it out again. They haven’t said a word over the duration of the last eight months I’ve been doing this, so I kept doing it. That book is muy expensivo, my friends.
But due to the generosity of whoever it was who gave me that gift card and no I can’t remember I’m a horrible person who never writes thank you cards, I now have my very own copy of the best reference guide known to man or beast. (Better than a bestiary? hmmm…)
On the same giddy shopping trip I decided to spend all my gift cards, which included ten dollars at an upscale, boutique grocery store and ten dollars at a chain drugstore. So I ended up with tasty fresh mozzarella cheese and imported proscuitto, a freshly baked foccaccia and some tapenade, with which I concocted a supremely wonderful sandwichimo.
At the drugstore, I picked up some lovely lovely lipstick to replace the stick I left in the bathroom in New York (there’s only one!) the last time I was there. After dining on the aforementioned sandwichimo, I went into the bathroom to model my new lipstick for myself ( a most appreciative audience) and then retired to the office to browse through my shiny new Chicago. Forgetting about my lipstick, I gave my book a little kiss on the cover, I was so happy to own it. Now there is a little mocha-cinnamon kiss directly over the title on the cover of Chicago, and I think it should stay.
And to cap it all off, I finished the New York Times Sunday Crossword in two and a half hours. In pen, natch.
Something really bad’s about to happen, isn’t it?