Hi Darling Ones,
You probably don’t think of a freelance marketing person who has worked from their couch for twelve years and who has worn the same David Bowie shirt since Sunday despite showering as having a lot in common with an action hero. And I’m not saying I am an action hero, but sometimes I am action heroesque.
Take today for instance. I had a project due by the end of the day (Eastern time because time zones are fuckers). Did I start the project the day it was assigned? Yes. Did I work on it slowly over the last week until it was done? No. Did I get up first thing this morning and finish it up because it was the only thing on my work To Do list today? Also no. Did I wait until the last possible moment to complete the project and send it off at 4:51 Eastern time thus beating the deadline by nine entire minutes? Yes. Did the client just email me amazed at my work and how talented I am? Of course.
That’s some death-defying procrastination and I do not recommend it for amateurs.
Wanna know what other death-defying thing I did? I accidentally listened to 1:40 seconds of a Led Zeppelin song on accident. It didn’t kill me but the level of annoying in my brain almost did.
The work today was the kind of mindless work I dig. I had to make a giant graphic and while I did all the brain work last week, today was just nudging things around to make sure all my lines were straight, my spaces even, my numbering correct, and the colors were on brand. It sounds tedious, but I like it because I can do it while my mind wanders and I sing along loudly to music.
Enter Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May.” Here are the 19 thoughts I had while listening to the song.
- Gah, I love Rod Stewart.
- Cameron Crowe is right, I would forgive Rod Stewart anything for giving us “Maggie May.”
- I mean “Young Turks.” That one’s my favorite.
- The first 28 seconds of this song sucks. What’s with the mandolin? It’s like it’s from a different song.
- I kinda get where Maggie is coming from I’d lead someone away from home to save me from being alone.
- Rude, Rod, no woman wants to know how her face really shows her age.
- Is that why you wish you’d never seen her face? I’m confused. Do you love her because of her face or does her face just remind me of how old she is?
- Wait. How old is Maggie? How old is the narrator?
- After googling: So Rod was like sixteen and his Maggie was in her thirties, he thinks.
- That’s not good. I couldn’t be a Maggie or I could be a Maggie who went after men in their early to mid-forties.
- Yeah, I can’t deal with men born in the 80s and their millennial nonsense. GenX or nothing.
- I wonder if she was actually in her thrities or if she just appeared to be in her thirties because when you’re sixteen everyone over twenty seems a hundred.
- Also, Rod said the real Maggie was fat and I’m not sure if it makes things better or worse. Like why mention that detail unless you’re trying to make Maggie look like a tragic figure, an ol’ fatty on the prowl for young men?
- Still, gross. Bad Maggie.
- And another thing, how is Maggie making a fool out of him? Sure she might have lured him away from home but he seems to be staying of his own volition. He’s making a fool of himself.
- Fucking men, blaming women for their emotions. Goddamnit, Rod.
- Gross age stuff aside, Maggie can get it. Look at her wearing out such a young man.
- Until today I thought the school the narrator would be getting back to was college.
- I’m so naive.
This song made a first-class fool out of me,