Tuesday, September 26, 2006

September 26, 2006

All morning, I have been working at my job as executive secretary and personal assistant to Alison Luterman, the writer. In that capacity I have photocopied five new copies of the latest updated version of See How We Almost Fly, the poetry manuscript, researched five relevant contests and small presses to send said manuscript to, addressed five self-addressed stamped envelopes, and loaded the mss. into mailers.

In addition, I've emailed her resume (edited) to Elizabeth, who's applying for grants so that we can get money to do this piece, selected ten poems from the ms. to send in a proposal to Sarabande Press, written the proposal to Sarabande Press, selected another fifteen pages of poetry to send to Stanford in order to apply for a WallaceStegner Fellowship (incredibly long shot,) started to work on a "statement of plans," realized I don't have enough brain cells left to make up any plans, drunk my second cup of coffee, and decided it's time for a swim since I can't think straight anymore.

My work as Alison Luterman's personal secretary is slightly boring but not backbreaking. She's an okay boss, slightly disorganized, but driven, doesn't pay very well, has to be reminded to take time out to breathe. She works in fits and starts, very concentrated and focussed for a few hours, then goofs off. It's part of my job to regulate her coffee intake, remind her to drink water, and get her to exercise.

At the High Street Post Office, there's a clerk named Dave with aging parents whose care he's responsible for. He often looks stressed. Over the years I've been going there to mail out Luterman's work, he and I have gotten to know each other. When I ask him to bless an outgoing packet, he takes his job seriously, laying hands on it for a moment silently, and wishing me good luck. There's also a woman who works there, I don't know her name, who tells every customer "Have a blessed day." She says this even when the line is snaking out the door, and people are rude, or unprepared, or pissed off that they can't get their packages. The good part of my job as secretary and gofer is that I get to interact with people like this as part of my day. But I've noticed that too many poems in Luterman's latest manuscript take place at the grocery store or some check-out line or another. Note to self: remind her that she needs to get out more.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll have space and mental energy to go back to the work of creating, and work on the new play.

Have a blessed day,

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