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Dear Diary

We’re doomed.  I heard the final toll and first trumpet roll down from heaven and we are in deep deep deep trouble.  My favorite sponsor called this morning.  I love this sponsor.  She was a blank check to success and made sure we broke even in costs at the very least no matter what.  Not to mention she was a sweetheart to talk to.  I usually spent hours talking about her kids and family and the fact that she enjoyed having lunch once a month.  I actually enjoyed that conversation.  It’s refreshing to see something resembling normal in my line of work.

Except for this month.  This month she is unable to help us.  A family emergency has forced her to leave the country and head to that mythical place called Canada.  In that country it is said that there is no guns and that healthcare is universal.  I think it’s a secret conspiracy.  No country is that nice without a reason.

In any event, she has to head back and she’s leaving me all alone to handle the magazine and all the good and bad that comes with it.  The good news is that she will be back next month.  So next month, barring another emergency, she will be back with her monthly check and her monthly advertisement on page five.

But this month she is not here and that means I have to actively spend time finding sponsors for this sort of thing and not focus on the creative direction so much.  I hated sales.  Sales suck.  Sales are the equivalent of me putting on a sign that says “Will drop pants for food.  Please spare some change.” As I peddle my wares to all the people that have money on the planet.

It’s like biographies only it’s unavoidable.  I have to do this.  I can’t have interns handle it.  Ugh.  I’m going to have to give brownie boy a chance with the creative tasks this month.  The same man who came up with hotplates.  I feel my stomach lurch.  Me and sleep are probably not going to see each other this month.

Oy.  What else can go wrong?

Oh no.  I shouldn’t have said.  Never say that.  Usually that means some more dredge and slush and shit was going to bullet my blue sky in a matter of days.  It’s the apocalypse.

I can’t believe I wrote this.  Stop.  Calm down.  Breathe.  The nasty companies aren’t nearly that bad.   You’re just socially inept.  That’s right.  You can do this.  Just play one of those positive mantra tapes those new agey places always sell.  They calm you down.  Yes.  Relax.  It’s not going to be all bad.  You can do this.

I can do this!

The magazine will be done.