Up

I don’t discuss work much here unless I need to. I like to keep work, and this, this, this, um, THING exclusive to keep at bay the creeping edge of insanity. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Yes, I’m aware that my efforts are futile, contradictive and ironic. But I try.

Here’s what happened this week. I had two (two, 2, II) working campaigns that were approved, but in FDA review, trashed.

Trashed.

That in itself is like a one in a billion thing.

Then (time not represented in sequence) both were reinstated. After amazing hours of work. That in itself is a one in a zillion thing.

It’s been a week of major ups and downs. Thankfully, I work with a collective of bipolars. (How often does THAT come in handy?)

You wouldn’t believe how much pizza the agency bought for us. And not just pizza, but Bleeker St. Pizza, Arturo’s and Joe’s. Best pizza in the world.

When we got the news today that the second campaign was re-approved, we decided to go out drinking. We had client approval.

Our creative and account team spent the afternoon outside at a SoHo Irish bar soaking in today’s glorious afternoon sun. We had sunny sidewalk seats. We had love and empathy and creativity surging through our veins careening right along with a notable degree of arterial anguish. Burning blood in the process of cooling off.

And there’s still a Friday to get through. And relatives suffering cancer.

We locked bonds.

We traded war stories about the horrors of working for a living. There were many margaritas, gin and tonics, and Jack and Cokes. We laughed for many hours, waiting for the sun to set over a facing skyscraper. I swear, that sun took a break from its westward drop for an hour or two, hung in the sky and just beamed warmth and positive rays upon us.

After we were done I went back to the office to shut off my computer. I had a revelation.