Contrary to appearances, I am not actually dead. This is a bit disappointing, on account of the fact that I look fabulous in black and had planned to dress accordingly for my own funeral. On the plus side, I can put off that particular shopping trip, which is always a bonus.
On the minus side, it’s all gone to shit in the past week.
For a start, I have walking pneumonia or something, which is never going to be a barrel of monkey fun. Unless the monkeys are also smoking pot. I, however, am smoking menthols. Medicinally.
Second of all, I have insomnia brought on by working with clients across not one, not two, but three different time zones. My body is currently under the impression that I am 22, can pull all nighters for days without end, and am living in LA. Where it is midnight, and not 8 AM.
Finally, I have hit The Slump. This happens about once every two or three years. Normally when a client comes to me for a design, I get a picture in my head of how to bring their needs together under a cohesive design, sit down, and churn it out. The actual churning part can be very time consuming, but I am fortunate to have a high batting average in this, and usually get it right the first time.
Every once in a while, the picture never solidifies. I sit down, I open my graphics program, and get precisely nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Bupkis.
When this happens, it is horrifying. Particularly if you are my husband. Because unless you come bearing cigarettes, coffee or design inspiration, I pretty much just want to be left alone in my hell hole to quietly, repeatedly bang my head against the same wall. And even if you do come bearing design inspiration, I am very likely to tell you that your idea is terrible and COULD NOT POSSIBLY WORK and then perhaps cry until you go away.
So, I’ve been an exhausted, sick, frustrated, mean treat of a woman to live with for the week.
While I am prepared (and somewhat embarrassed) to admit that I occasionally fail in my professional capacity as a designer, I am at this point comforted by the fact that in this instance, it’s due to a really craptastic client brief. As in a non-existent one. I’m prepared to let myself call this one a case of “You gave me nothing, now it’s all I got.”
And as if the past week wasn’t enough, my husband will now divorce me for quoting U2 lyrics.