I've got three things to write today.
Thing One: I just sent it to the client. I think it is a fine piece of writing. It should accomplish what it is supposed to accomplish and it will be a workable base for future solicitations. I'm even getting paid in American Dollars for this one. Yay, me.
[Triple T pats Triple T on back]
Thing Two: I still need more information from the client before I can actually get drafting. I won't bug them until tomorrow or Wednesday for their contribution -- it's only an hour's worth of writing anyway.
[Triple T makes notecard to remind self to start nagging client for recaps on Tuesday]
Thing Three: I'm in fucking hell. If the woman who lives above me owned a piano, I'd ask for your prayers that it might come crashing through my ceiling onto my head, killing me quickly and putting me out of this agonizing misery.
[Triple T leaps from her chair, laptop crashing to the ground, tearing hair claw and a significant amount of hair that is tangled in hair claw out of her head while running through her hallway, shrieking loudly, until she reaches the bathroom, where she submissively places her head on the cold, porcelain rim of the toilet and methodically slams it's lid on her head, over, and over, and over, and over...]
Thing Three has to be done EOD. Two or three other people need to read Thing Three, edit it as needed and feel confident that Thing Three will help us secure money for our annual fundraiser. 600 students of different ethnic backgrounds, 40% of whom are at poverty level, are counting on me to write this stupid letter, and so far, all I've got is, well, I've got nothing.
I've cut and pasted the school boilerplate to my blank document. That's it. I have something that someone has already written.
So, a priest, a hooker and a phlebotomist walk into a bar and ....