Easy Tiger.

I've been inspired by this phrase all week. Seriously.

This week has been a step up from last. No old guy (with a stank wife) yelled at me, the cable has been turned back on (we'll see how long that last), I bought the 1st season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and my spirits have been lifted from the deepest of lows that struck last week.

I must admit, I have never been one to wait for things to come my way. I am very impatient. Not outwardly of course. I don't mind waiting in a long line for a pack of gum, I'm never in a huge rush to get any where important, I daydream while I walk down the street, I take my time in grocery stores, and I take forever to make decisions. Patience is almost my middle name.For the most part I am even tempered, mellow, a nice ripple in the sea. But this doesn't mean that I can't get restless sometimes. This doesn't mean that I'm not impulsive or ready for the next big thing to happen. In fact, in that regards, I am very impatient internally. I don't know what I want, but I know that when I get it I will be thinking of something else to grab on to.

The people who I trust dear, are use to this aspect of my personality. They often have to reel me back in from my quest to do everything, see everything, touch everything within my vicinity. I have heard the phrase 'slow down' more times than I would like to count, and Easy Tiger has not been far from that sentiment either.

This week, in between working, interning and sending out that important application, I tried to remember how to breathe. It's sort of an important and hard thing to do all at once. There is a reason why that Sylvia Plath quote (the one about the tree branches) remains my favorite line of all time from a book. I mean in an ideal world and planet I would be able to fulfill every living quest, venture, and passion I have ever set out to do but because it is impossible I get anxious about making sure to do as much as I can because I have eventually I will have to 'settle' down one of these days and pick something I want to do for the rest of my life, pick this person I want to be an present to the world. This is very hard to do.

There are just too many options. There are just too many paths I see myself on and none of them have converged into this perfect point, or meeting place. So sometimes I need to slow down, reel myself in, and remember to take it Easy Tiger (both my Chinese zodiac sign and the name of Ryan Adams awesome album). This week has been good because of that.

I have been too busy lately to even worry about the state of my life. The suckassness of September is gone replaced with the chilly but beautiful days of October. I am getting my Little Red Riding Hood outfit early to avoid last years problem. I will also be waiting anxiously for word about my very important application! I have a month or so left at the romance publishing internship, and I am learning a lot about the world of publishing. 1) that everyone believes they are writers 2) they most likely are not and 3) working at a place where I review romance submissions is messing with my dreams. Let me explain briefly.

As you may or may not know, I daydream. A Lot. I am probably daydreaming right now as I type this well known fact. My daydreams are influenced by a handful of things, the season, my mood, reading gross stories every Tuesday and Thursday. A part of my 'job' at the publishing house is to read manuscripts submitted by unagented and agented writers. As a writer myself, I have become a Little discouraged by the amount of people I run into who proclaim they are writers. I'd like to think that I am a good writer, that my words make sense on some level, that I have a somewhat unique voice. But in New York every corner you turn you run smack into a person penning the next best American novel, while I type away at my small Peru story (hey, I'm working on it).

Working in romance is worse than working in regular literary fiction. Romance itself is a cheesy genre. I mean even when I was really into the genre, I could not help but laugh at the absurdity of some of the situations. Of course, the ones I read where put through the arduous process of publication which involves debating whether rough sex is acceptable for romance readers. I don't know the answer to that question yet. The ones I read, were the cream of the crop of romance submissions. Of course, interning at a publishing house I rarely get to read the best romance submissions out there. I have to read the ones that a Kindergarten teacher penned on the weekends, or ones where the writer adds a picture of her and her pets with her manuscript. Of course, I then have to read the portions of the manuscript sent and needless to say I am over throbbing members. So over them, they have become flaccid members limp in disgust.

Reading all of this trash can be very boring, and because of this I drift off at my desk influenced by them. There is this new janitor at work ( me and these damn janitors) that I've quickly become friends with. He is way different than the creepy janitor formely known as my first real date. Sean, is my age, has a very dry sense of humor which I find funny, and is just cool to be around. We sneak each other food during our shift and sometimes he will come into the kids department and keep me company. He is a nice guy, with a girlfriend, but we are charting the friend territory. Unfortunately, what I was unaware of is that under the ugly janitor he is forced to wear at work is the body of a...gym buff. Not in that gross terminator way but in that I 'like to work outside a lot, and because of this my arms are firm and nice and I have abs' way.

I only discovered this when he stopped into kids to say goodbye, after a long day of straightening up the store and dismantling some shelves. I was putting away a book when I heard his voice and when I turned around he was wearing a shirtless sleeve and jeans. Before I could say 'see you later' i looked down to see well toned arms glistening with sweat, I think. It could have been my imagination. I am known to have a good one, but before me he was transformed into this Adonis, and Adonis who almost made me drop the kids books. I quickly averted my ass, regained some sense of composure and said goodbye. I don't think he noticed. I hope to god he didn't.

I am embarrassed to be writing this down. There is a point I swear, but for some reason ( after the glistening, firm arms incident) while I was daydreaming the other day I had a very disturbing daydream about him. I mean very disturbing. We were on a farm, and it was very hot and then all of a sudden he was chopping wood (because people chop wood in the summer) and there were muscles rippling and such. Before I could let the daydream progress I had to pull myself away before anyone could see the shamed look on my face or the embarrassment. The next day he was at work, and I was weird and awkward around him like the tramp that my mind made me out to be.

This publishing house is corrupting me. I use to be such a innocent girl until I step into that office. Now I spend my off time, dreaming up steamy scenes of a boy who has a girlfriend. What has happened to me. I am convinced though that if lame stories about Highlanders seducing poor young maidens can get published then someone somewhere will find an interest in my story, even if there aren't throbbing members and heaving bosoms, even if there aren't vampires and werewolves, I feel good about this story.

Time to catch up on my TV shows. I have a month of network shows to get acquainted with. After dateline of course.