Deadlines, Deadlines. Oh the Deadlines...

It's that time of year, folks. I've got a thick stack of articles on my desk, several writing assignments to finish up, and 80-some pieces of digital art to wrangle, name, number, size, organize, and (oh crap!) write captions for. February is Alice's Deadline Hell month. But it's exciting. I'm good under pressure. I make lists; I prioritize. I glance up at my production schedule approximately every 4-and-a-half minutes. I tote file folders home with me. The mild panic only makes me stronger!

Said deadlines make me a bad blogger, a tardy e-mail replier, and occasionally an inattentive wife, mommy and friend. Some nights, when I'm not staring at the ceiling planning my how-I'll-somehow-get-everything-done-tomorrow strategy when I should be sleeping, I dream I'm working, marking up copy, stacks and stack of copy, never-ending copy.

During my 8 years of employ as a department store gift wrapper I dreamed of wrapping all through December. At the end of my 9-hour shift, my left shoulder unable to move, my fingers raw with paper cuts, I'd fall exhausted into bed and have the same dream every night. I'd be standing behind the counter wrapping, a sea of shoppers on the other side as far as I could see. They're all waving their items to be wrapped, yelling at me to help them. I keep poking my head into the back room asking for someone to come out to help me. "We're on break," my co-workers would say, their feet up, munching on pizza. Then I'd wake up, shower, put on my comfy shoes, and do it all again.

That was hell. Bring on the copy.