So, yay, I'm sick. And if that weren't cool enough, here was my weekend:
Friday: Sick at work. Am told I will have to work on the weekend. Am also told my appointment to see my new accountant has been pushed up to 8am Saturday. I have yet to go through the pile of receipts for said meeting, so I ultimately decide that going to bed at 8:30pm on Friday for 8 hours NyQuil induced sleep, up at 4:30am and then three hours of tortuous accounting is the only way to go. Needless to say, it's a terrible way to go, but nothing else can be done.
Saturday: Up at 4:30am. Feel like crap. Go through a Trader Joe's shopping bag worth of bills, receipts and credit card statements. A half-assed job on my part to be sure.
The meeting with the accountant goes well however. He's a great guy and even my half-assed accounting gets me better than the standard deduction, something I didn't think remotely possible. Note to self, when in doubt, don't listen to self.
After that had to spend several hours throughout the day to work on a script that needed to go out. Finally collapsed into a NyQuil induced stupor about 11pm.
Sunday: 10:15am. The phone rings. It's my new boss. Final Draft has crashed three times and eaten his last act. He's not happy. Good morning, sunshine. Spend the next hour trying to figure out the problem. The solution: Final Draft sucks. Yay, I knew that. Spend the next five hours getting the script into shape to be sent to a dozen different executives, hard copies to the messenger service and hoping I didn't screw anything up. I apparently didn't, but come 5pm I had done two days worth of work. Lazy sunday my ass.
Monday: At work, bright and shiny...still sick...aw, yeah, I'm a workin man. Not bad all told.
Friday: Sick at work. Am told I will have to work on the weekend. Am also told my appointment to see my new accountant has been pushed up to 8am Saturday. I have yet to go through the pile of receipts for said meeting, so I ultimately decide that going to bed at 8:30pm on Friday for 8 hours NyQuil induced sleep, up at 4:30am and then three hours of tortuous accounting is the only way to go. Needless to say, it's a terrible way to go, but nothing else can be done.
Saturday: Up at 4:30am. Feel like crap. Go through a Trader Joe's shopping bag worth of bills, receipts and credit card statements. A half-assed job on my part to be sure.
The meeting with the accountant goes well however. He's a great guy and even my half-assed accounting gets me better than the standard deduction, something I didn't think remotely possible. Note to self, when in doubt, don't listen to self.
After that had to spend several hours throughout the day to work on a script that needed to go out. Finally collapsed into a NyQuil induced stupor about 11pm.
Sunday: 10:15am. The phone rings. It's my new boss. Final Draft has crashed three times and eaten his last act. He's not happy. Good morning, sunshine. Spend the next hour trying to figure out the problem. The solution: Final Draft sucks. Yay, I knew that. Spend the next five hours getting the script into shape to be sent to a dozen different executives, hard copies to the messenger service and hoping I didn't screw anything up. I apparently didn't, but come 5pm I had done two days worth of work. Lazy sunday my ass.
Monday: At work, bright and shiny...still sick...aw, yeah, I'm a workin man. Not bad all told.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
koala:
I hope you feel better soon!
toothpickmoe:
Good times. I hope they paid you tons of overtime.