Sprig have been occupying some measure of our time searching for a studio to record our first, as of yet unnamed record. I'd hoped to be well into the creation process by now, but there's always something that leaps up and demands that time - and this summer has been fraught
with that sort of something. What do you do, eh? (Erm...say no
now and again? Yeh, yeh. Bah.)
At any rate, three out of four of us have taken one studio tour, and in all honesty I'd be perfectly willing to look no further. Only...well, that isn't the wisest decision to take, is it? I mean, the likelihood is still high that we will
choose this one, but shouldn't that choice be made after
we've had a bit more of a look round?
The answer to that question is, of course, absolutely
phoned the first studio, and despite her utter aversion for phoning people, she's quite good at it. Myself, I babble and stammer, and often fail to make my point (sort of thing). No, my forte is the written word.
Until, that is, I'm charged to write letters of enquiry, responses to letters of enquiry, or any letter at all that is addressed to or from a person whom I don't know. It's as though a wall sprouts in my head with the words 'good luck, eejit' chalked across it, and anything warm, engaging or useful that I may have to say vanishes in the haze. Good-bye winsome cailín, hallo knuckle-dragging trog.
It is ridiculously vexing.
On my list of tasks today were five people/studios to whom I intended to send email. It's embarrassing to admit actually how long I stared at the list in growing dread, but it was longer than thirty seconds. My aim was to write pleasant-sounding, yet succinct (because I realise how circumlocutive I can be) letters of enquiry and responses to these people. Well, let's say that I succeeded on the succinct
score and cease with the self-flagellation (which this isn't really, but I thought I should check whether I still knew how to spell 'flagellation' - 'cos sure I know I can't pronounce it). Pleasant-sounding is another beasty entirely. Can you believe that I've actually scarpered off to the Internet to perform desperate searches for perfectly worded letters? Well, I know you can believe that I've usually found sweet fuckall and have shut my windows grumbling that I could do better myself. Only, I'm met again with a blank waiting page, and now the wall in my head reads '@ll UR b@s3 R b3long 2 uS. U hAV b3N pWN3d'.
So, I keyed in an email address, moved my cursor down to the Subject line, and...and I saved my thoroughly blank message as a draught and minimised my email window as fast as I could click the little Make Me Go Away bar. I perused LJ, I chatted with my sister, I went to the web site for the Irish Embassy and gawked at it for a quarter of an hour. I wrote no email. I did not click send. I do not win the day.
I waited till I'd five minutes left me to get anything done, and then I blurted each message out as quickly as I could do. They all of them stop short of being wholly monosyllabic. Seriously, the statement I made about bashing two sticks together? I'd have made a stronger, more engaging point had
I been bashing two sticks together. Janeymac - at the end of it, what I wanted to say to each of them was this:
I AM A NASTY BITCH.
YOU WANT ME OR I WILL POUND YOUR EEJIT HEAD.
PS YOU ARE VERY UGLY.
'Cos sure, that'll win you friends.
However, at the end of it all, I did eke out five rather brief messages, and I did click Send five times. Thus far, I have received one favourable response (erm...not to say that I've also received four unfavourable responses), so I can wander away to seisiun cosy in the knowledge that I Accomplished Something.
But Christ on a bike, has it got to be such a fucking ordeal?