Monday, January 03, 2005
divide and conquer
After a disturbingly slow period for me work-wise, I picked up a brand-new client. As is often the case with new clients for me, they were pitching a new client themselves and needed a whip-smart writer (that's me) to help them out.
I thought the project wouldn't be happening until January, but I got the call on Wed, Dec 29 - it's a go! And! It's due Friday! And! We probably won't have the information you need to do your work until Thursday!
So I put my thinking cap on and starting brainstorming concepts... most of which would get tossed after I finally got the project brief on Thursday. I was a little worried about pulling this off: three separate web campaigns for two different fast food clients, which to me meant I had to present at least 15 concepts. They wanted edgy. They wanted breakthrough. They wanted viral. And they wanted it in less than 24 hours.
And if that wasn't stressful enough, I had a meeting with Brad that night. I had a Christmas present for him that was burning a hole under my tree. More importantly, I hadn't seen him since our relationship hit an iceberg. But we had at least lowered the terror alert level from "break up" to "time apart." Or so I had thought.
So I go to a bar to meet Brad. He's an hour late, not his fault, and actually good because it gave me some time to have a drink and...just...relax. He finally shows up and we exchange presents. He'd had a hefty chunk of his cd collection stolen from his car recently, so I bought him a new cd case and stocked it full of music that we both loved, with special emphasis on bands we'd seen together. It was my last attempt at a meaningful reconciliation. Aside from the gift itself, it failed miserably.
Because about an hour later, after Brad had told me how good I looked and how much he missed me and kept touching my leg, I finally asked him: "What's up with us?" Besides his last request of me weeks ago that I give him some time "without giving up" on him, he still had his Friendster profile listed as 'In a Relationship.' And as silly as that may sound, Friendster is how we met. And I still remember the day we both changed our profiles to 'In A Relationship,' and talking about how that felt and what a big deal it was for us both.
But apparently it was all for show. "I thought it was obvious that we weren't in a relationship," he said. I guess I should've expected as much from the guy who first mentioned any problems with our relationship by simply informing me that it was over.
The conversation got messy and confusing from that point. I left, horrified and humiliated. I called him when I got home, trying to figure out what happened, trying again to save our relationship or at least make sense of it. The one thing I remember him saying was, "I'm out." Tough to find a way around that. I hung up.
So I took a sleeping pill at midnight and went to bed and woke up at 4 AM anyway and sat down in front of my computer. And though I had this huge, insane deadline for a brand new client (and their brand new client), I started writing a letter to Brad. The letter was, I must admit, not very nice. But once I got a first draft done, I was finally able to get started on my work. And then I went back to the letter. And back to the work. It went on like this all fucking day; a sentence here, a few words there, me trying to concentrate but my emotions grabbing the wheel and veering me back and forth at a dizzying, disorienting rate.
I only took a break to keep an appointment with a dermatologist. And while sitting in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to come in, I actually thought I was having a heart attack. My chest started pounding and hurting and my teeth ached in a very weird and painful way. I described it to someone later and they said it was probably an anxiety attack, but I've never experienced anything like it. Thankfully it stopped after a few scary minutes, but for a moment I considered running out into the hallway and screaming, "A doctor! I need a REAL doctor!"
I came home and went back to work on both pressing projects. Finally, around 9:30 pm, I sent off the work. It wasn't due until the morning but I just wanted it sent and gone. And within a few hours the creative director (who also, apparently, spends too much time in front of his computer) had emailed me back: You did it. You kicked ass. This is awesome. You are amazing.
Today the work got presented to the client's client. They loved it too - my revisions were miniscule at most.
The letter to Brad I never sent. We did have an email exchange in the aftermath, but I think that's gonna be it. As hurt and confused as I am over what's happened with us, the thought of him hurting, or me hurting him, is weirdly the worst feeling of all. And I guess some letters are best written but never sent.
I thought the project wouldn't be happening until January, but I got the call on Wed, Dec 29 - it's a go! And! It's due Friday! And! We probably won't have the information you need to do your work until Thursday!
So I put my thinking cap on and starting brainstorming concepts... most of which would get tossed after I finally got the project brief on Thursday. I was a little worried about pulling this off: three separate web campaigns for two different fast food clients, which to me meant I had to present at least 15 concepts. They wanted edgy. They wanted breakthrough. They wanted viral. And they wanted it in less than 24 hours.
And if that wasn't stressful enough, I had a meeting with Brad that night. I had a Christmas present for him that was burning a hole under my tree. More importantly, I hadn't seen him since our relationship hit an iceberg. But we had at least lowered the terror alert level from "break up" to "time apart." Or so I had thought.
So I go to a bar to meet Brad. He's an hour late, not his fault, and actually good because it gave me some time to have a drink and...just...relax. He finally shows up and we exchange presents. He'd had a hefty chunk of his cd collection stolen from his car recently, so I bought him a new cd case and stocked it full of music that we both loved, with special emphasis on bands we'd seen together. It was my last attempt at a meaningful reconciliation. Aside from the gift itself, it failed miserably.
Because about an hour later, after Brad had told me how good I looked and how much he missed me and kept touching my leg, I finally asked him: "What's up with us?" Besides his last request of me weeks ago that I give him some time "without giving up" on him, he still had his Friendster profile listed as 'In a Relationship.' And as silly as that may sound, Friendster is how we met. And I still remember the day we both changed our profiles to 'In A Relationship,' and talking about how that felt and what a big deal it was for us both.
But apparently it was all for show. "I thought it was obvious that we weren't in a relationship," he said. I guess I should've expected as much from the guy who first mentioned any problems with our relationship by simply informing me that it was over.
The conversation got messy and confusing from that point. I left, horrified and humiliated. I called him when I got home, trying to figure out what happened, trying again to save our relationship or at least make sense of it. The one thing I remember him saying was, "I'm out." Tough to find a way around that. I hung up.
So I took a sleeping pill at midnight and went to bed and woke up at 4 AM anyway and sat down in front of my computer. And though I had this huge, insane deadline for a brand new client (and their brand new client), I started writing a letter to Brad. The letter was, I must admit, not very nice. But once I got a first draft done, I was finally able to get started on my work. And then I went back to the letter. And back to the work. It went on like this all fucking day; a sentence here, a few words there, me trying to concentrate but my emotions grabbing the wheel and veering me back and forth at a dizzying, disorienting rate.
I only took a break to keep an appointment with a dermatologist. And while sitting in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to come in, I actually thought I was having a heart attack. My chest started pounding and hurting and my teeth ached in a very weird and painful way. I described it to someone later and they said it was probably an anxiety attack, but I've never experienced anything like it. Thankfully it stopped after a few scary minutes, but for a moment I considered running out into the hallway and screaming, "A doctor! I need a REAL doctor!"
I came home and went back to work on both pressing projects. Finally, around 9:30 pm, I sent off the work. It wasn't due until the morning but I just wanted it sent and gone. And within a few hours the creative director (who also, apparently, spends too much time in front of his computer) had emailed me back: You did it. You kicked ass. This is awesome. You are amazing.
Today the work got presented to the client's client. They loved it too - my revisions were miniscule at most.
The letter to Brad I never sent. We did have an email exchange in the aftermath, but I think that's gonna be it. As hurt and confused as I am over what's happened with us, the thought of him hurting, or me hurting him, is weirdly the worst feeling of all. And I guess some letters are best written but never sent.
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