Sometimes I wonder about the phrase “getting lucky,” or even the single word “lucky.” The connotations are positive, even though the type of luck one’s discussing is never actually specified.
Which seems like maybe a bad idea.
It’s even a bit like one of those “leverage your synergies” business misuses of words that have most annoyed me, over the past ten years or so: using the word “quality,” unqualified, and presuming it means “high quality.”
Some regional manager of sales blathers on and one about how “This is a quality product/job/experience,” without bothering to wonder what KIND of quality. I mean, shitty quality? Mediocre quality? Quality that elicits multiple gagging noises from all the other people trapped in the conference room while the guy’s fucking Powerpoint presentation drags on and on?
This is why I refuse to watch “The Office,” by the way. My daughter keeps telling me it’s wonderful, and I keep saying, “look, if I have to spend upwards of eight hours a day in a room full of inarticulate assholes throwing ill-sharpened darts of political expediency at one another, the least I should get out of it is health insurance.”
And then she says, “What the hell are you talking about, upwards of eight hours a day? The show’s an hour long.”
And I say, “yeah, but that’s not how long it FEELS.”
She is routinely not amused. Go figure.
Meanwhile, I have been getting lucky lately. Good lucky. Lubricious lucky. And auspiciously “my editor actually kind of likes the first draft” lucky–all at the same time.
(Um… not, like, simultaneously. Just, generally within the same loose time FRAME.)
Which, hello, doesn’t suck. Hugely doesn’t suck. (okay, maybe sometimes… um…)
Yeah. This after five years of no lucky.
Take this image, and then draw a huge red circle and slash over it.)
That would be how not lucky. For five years. Well, except for that one night with the Irish guy I used to… ahem… yeah. Not going there.
(Look! Something shiny! Behind you!)
Where were we? Oh yeah. The last five years of my not-lucky…
So, time for visual aids… here’s what the last five years of my life have been like, in pictures. (Because it is 3:43 a.m. and I have been, ahem, getting lucky. The good kind.)
It started becoming like this, first:
And there had already been a lot of what felt excruciatlingly like this:
Which didn’t exactly improve.
And then the real estate market went to shit:
And meanwhile the whole marital situation was like this:
No, actually, more like this (if Elizabeth Taylor had been entirely blameless and Richard Burton had become a shrill Fox-News-Republican asshole):
Which at least made us both pretty goddamn happy when it got to this:
And then there was a lot of this:
Which sucked hugely, and didn’t make anything feel LIGHTER or anything, as you might expect.
And meanwhile I had moved 3000 miles away from a place I’d spent nine years accumulating excellent friends in, which felt like this:
Only without the boat. Or even any sled dogs, for shit’s sake.
And meanwhile I was trying to write one of these:
Which most days made me feel like this:
(Hint: I would NOT be the person pictured standing in the doorway with oven mitts on… And I watch this even less than I watch The Office. Which is to say NOT AT ALL.)
Except I would have been puking this:
So progress on the work front was pretty much this:
Which I’m sure made my edtior and agent feel like this:
Which of course helped me write better and faster. Not.
In fact, I ended up consoling myself with a lot of this:
And other fine online viewing.
Even though I was totally worried about my dwindling supplies of this:
And then I really had to finish my first draft for my lovely, long-suffering editor:
Which actually worked out, and meanwhie there has been a good bit of this lately:
Um, except for the whole “actually, one of us is NOT a chick” thing.
(And neither of us being named “Britney,” either. Thank GOD.)
So, now it’s 4:20 (heh) and I’m going to go to sleep.
Please wish me more luck. Good luck.
And as for you, dearest ‘Ratis… Got Luck?