Spa Day

Thursday, August 3, 2017

6:30 a.m.: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.

6:39: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.

6:48: ”

6:57: “…..

7:33: OH MY GOD. SERIOUSLY? Scream out of bed, dash to shower. Wash hair.

We curly people don’t wash our hair every day. Many of us have a concoction we create in dollar spray bottles purchased at Target. The concoction contains water and lavender oil. Or water and conditioner. Or water and gel. Or water, conditioner, gel and flax seed. Or whiskey.

Some of us have had all of those iterations in our spray bottle from Target. We spray our hair, scrunch it, and go the whole day with our hair looking like shit.

Since I’d had Bernie from Room 222 hair all week, and current references for four decades, yesterday was an actual wash-and-start-over day.

7:45: Put hair in careful microfiber towel for curly people, make coffee, feed animals, go outside with Edsel to watch him pee, as is required by law, lest you deal with a dog who will not go outside ALL DAY, and who hovers near you underbitedly wishing it be tyme to go out and watch Edzul pee alreddy cause he relly haff to go.

7:50 Begin blogging.


9:02: Throw on anything, pop in contacts, pour more coffee, scream out door. Catch reflection in car mirror.

Hair still completely soaked.

9:05–9:11: Drive to work with sunroof open and all windows down. Get to work and glance in mirror.

Hair still completely soaked.

9:12: Turn on computer hurriedly, glance at boss to see if he’s absorbed in work and not noticing lateness (NEWS ALERT: Boss is always absorbed in work), begin five-article project you promised another team that you were supposed to start the day before but were too busy.

9:13: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:14: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:15: PING! New deadline ass–


At work, we have software that, once your part of the task is completed, you check off a box and the next person in line gets an automatic email saying it’s their turn and with a deadline for their part.

Often, for some efficient reason, these deadlines are mythical, so the person before you will then email you personally to say, “Really, this has to be done tomorrow at noon.”

9:16: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:17: PING! New–OH STOP.

Then I started getting the personal emails. Hey, June, don’t make it bad. Take a sad article, and make it better.

In half an hour, I had 11 new assignments. Eleven. I won’t get 11 in a week sometimes. Those were followed up by “These deadlines are legit” emails from the editor before me.

9:30–12:30: Begin work on the 11 new deadlines, ignoring the five articles you still have to do for the other team. Get one done.

12:31: Realize you haven’t peed. In bathroom, glance at self.

Hair is still completely soaked.

12:35–1:30: Drive home, let Edsel out, stand watching Edsel pee as is required by law, realize you’re standing blankly thinking about all that you need to do back at work. Eat something that’s 15 Weight Watchers points (Amy’s Organic 3 Cheese and Kale) because there’s no time to think about thawing a chicken breast right now and that 15-point concoction is right there smiling at you kale-ly from the freezer.

1:37: Return to work, begin slaving on those five articles.

2:09: Email, “Is there any way you can get those articles done early?

2:10: Email from another team: “Did you forget you were going to proof our presentation today?”

3:00: Party for leaving coworker. Everyone heads to conference room to celebrate, except you and your boss. Boss has as much and very likely lots more to do. You sigh, pound your hands on desk, throw head back in annoyance, swear, and at one point, glance over at boss. He’s calmly typing, absorbed in work.

3:11: During yet another dramatic sigh and head throwback, glance down at boss, who is typing and sipping water calmly, like he’s on a meditation retreat or something.


“I internalize everything,” says boss, never looking over at you and your still-soaking-wet hair.

‘That’s why you will have seven heart attacks one day.”

Boss finally looks over. “If you have so much to do, why are you talking to me?”

“What’s the point of you being the only person here if I can’t complain to you?”

3:12: Feel like boss is 100% over you.

4:50 p.m.: Person who asked if you’d do the five articles for her, and then if you can do them early, comes over. She is a good sort of a person. Have commiserative talk about how busy everything is, discuss who has cried at work today, smile wanly at each other and continue.

6:35 p.m.: Four of the five articles are done. Sure, there are the 10 others, and that presentation you forgot and have to do Saturday, but four of the five articles are done.

6:37: See The Poet in parking lot. Have commiserative talk. Realize Poet leaves every day at this time, then goes home and writes deep poetry. Realize Poet never once throws head back dramatically at desk.

6:40: Glance at self in mirror of car. Hair has dried into a ‘do not unlike Gene Wilder’s.

6:52: Plunk bag of carrots next to work computer (see above ref to 15-point kale) and begin freelance work.

8:30: Try to stop freelance work.

8:32: Feel too squirrelly about stopping now, when you could finish this whole project tonight.

8:52: Get email from woman at work who you did four our of five articles for. “I hope people tell you how much you’re appreciated.” Smile warmly at email. Coworker is good soul who never writes things like THANKS!! : ). Coworker writes in English. Coworker is bomb.

10:20: Finish current freelance assignment. Email Tank the Miracle Angel Baby, whom you’re working with on said freelance gig, to tell him. “That’s great!” he writes back. “We have one that’s five times as long as that one that we plan to get to you Tuesday.”

10:21: Mentally count dollars. Mentally tell self that if you can’t drive with broken back, at least you can polish fenders.

10:32: REM.

P.S. I forgot the good news, that at lunch, while I was staring blankly at Edsel, I also called my bank and set up a savings account, an account they will automatically add a certain amount to every 15th and 31st, an account I cannot access with my ATM card. Am practically Suze Orman. Plans to smile manically under corporate haircut and tell you all YOU can’t afford it, appearing forthwith.


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At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.

25 thoughts on “Spa Day”

  1. Ping! Ping! Ping!

    I would lose my mind… what’s left of it anyway. Nerves of steel, is what you need to be a copy editor.

    Happy Friday June!



  2. Holy Crap. Yes, I capitalized both words. It was deserving. The pinging would make me lose my mind completely.
    Good Work getting all that done!
    Lovely post, lovely June!


  3. I hate days like that.
    As a fellow curly headed person, I have no idea what concoctions you are talking about. What am I missing?
    Currently, I’m loving the Jessicurl products; but find that I have to give my whole head a soak every morning for it to look ok and end up going to work with wet hair. No matter how long it takes me to get to work, my damn hair will NOT dry until I’ve been at seen by everyone in the company.


  4. You didn’t even include all the people asking if you could meet for a drink, and “where are you, it’s 6:30” texts. I’m hivey for you.


  5. That pinging would drive me nuts.

    Curly hair ain’t for sissies with the time spent trying to figure out which concoction will work on any given day. I’m going to do a deep condition tonight because that’s how exciting my Friday night plans are.


  6. OH MY GOODNESS!!! All that pinging going, how do you stand it!? That’s so stressful. It reminds me of the episode of “I Love Lucy” when Lucy and Ethel were working in the chocolate factory.

    Congratulation on the savings account. All your hard work is paying off, that has to be encouraging to you. Next thing we know you will be on PBS teaching us how to be rich.


  7. Jesus Jehoshaphat Christmas!! Like I needed more stress. Someday you’re going to have a non-stressful job and discover that your hair isn’t really curly at all.


  8. Sleeping Beauty! Welcome back, girl! OMG June! I’m exhausted just reading this…going back to bed now…..


  9. FTLOG! Bloody hell! Shit! Fuck! I have no idea how you do it! On the upside, you are not stress eating and you are saving money! I am in AWE of you!


  10. You caused me a great deal of stress reading this. I’m so stiff I’m unable to throw my head back and do anything. I think I’ll go watch one of my dogs potty.


  11. That stressed me out just reading it. Getting kudos is one of the great joys in life. I hope today is less stressful.


  12. Oh this was the most stressful post EVER! I’m a bundle of knots and it’s not even MY life. June, I hope today is better.


  13. Either you are an effective writer or I don’t have good boundaries, because my chest aches. Throwing head back and sighing.


  14. Twitching in sympathy. The software we’re using for our current enormous project doesn’t actually ping (well, maybe it does, but I turn my speakers off), but it sends you an email every time someone does anything to or thinks about your ticket. So you get 4,000 emails every day, and eventually you stop looking because you’re trying to get some actual work done, and then someone’s all, “Did you not see that ticket notification? Can we move ahead with this content? Can those pages be built yet?”

    Shoulders like rocks over here.


  15. Pounding hands on my desk in your honor. I hate days like that.

    Also, Bernice from Room 222! Wait a minute…wasn’t “Bernice” a white dude with a fro? Now I’m confused. Maybe Bernice was a cross-dresser?


  16. Wow. Those pings would stress me out.
    That was a ridiculously busy day. I was stressed just reading about it.

    I hope you get to relax this weekend.


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