Dispatches From the Underground

Have you ever given any thought to the guy who creates the long index at the end of complicated and unwieldy textbooks?

Me either — until I started being That Guy. And let me tell you, That Guy is exhausted. Having elected to give myself a day off, I'd like to allow you a glimpse into the world of such an indexer by highlighting the past week. When your eyes start bleeding, remember: Today is Halloween!

Hour 1: Download template and print out bookmaps. Reward self by checking e-mail.
Hour 2: Click back on template file. Well, that was exhausting. Time to eat.
Hour 3: Decide you woke up too early. Go back to sleep.
Hour 7: Finally working, really working. Realize you don't even understand this project. What are you indexing, exactly? What terms apply? What does the word "Collocation" even mean? Is it too late to quit?
Hour 12: Why, why you damned fool, were you so incompetently lazy this morning? It's 7:30 p.m. now and you've so much work ahead of you. Time to get cracking! Oh, wait, what was that one song you wanted to hear? Search for video on YouTube.

Hour 13: I know this sounds weird, but this coffee really tastes like fruit salad.
Hour 18: Fall asleep at desk.
Hour 22: In the shower, feel as if eyes are burning. SERIOUSLY. ARE THEY BURNING? Please, please, please stop the burning. If eye medication is needed, wonder if friend will pretend to have an infection, so I can get prescription. Do other people without insurance do this? Must find out.
Hour 28: So hungry. Accidentally typed the word "apples" twice where page numbers should be.
Hour 35: Reflect: You haven't really slept yet this week, unless you count napping. Look longingly at bed, which cat is sleeping on — jerk!
Hour 40: Smell yourself, just to see if smell is bad or good. You've been wearing the same clothes three days in a row.
Hour 45: Burst out crying while listening to Sufjan Stevens song.
Hour 45: Self reflection: What just happened?
Hour 50: Water gets shut off in building. OK.
Hour 52: Currently obsessed with: (smog).
Hour 55: Water has not yet returned. Decide appropriate reaction is to run around apartment with arms raised, yelling, "Water! Water!"
Hour 55: My god, you haven't seen your friends in days.
Hour 57: Water finally back on. Celebrate by filling up several household items with said liquid, just in case.
Hour 60: Friend sends text that reads: "Come downstairs." She is not there, but a box of pastries is. You retrieve them in the dark, eyes darting about you like a crazed, agoraphobic lunatic.
Hour 70: So tired. Start having a fantasy about the apartment catching fire so you can run out screaming, "My work! My work! All my life's work!" as building explodes.
Hour 72: Currently obsessed with: Tapes n' Tapes.
Hour 74: Take break to read Robert Hayden poem out loud. Start crying while reading last stanza — so beautiful. Read again. Then ask self: "Emily — what's with all the crying?" Get no response.
Hour 75: Realize the PDF pages you were looking at have the wrong page numbers printed on them. They do not match bookmap. You've been indexing according to the PDFs for a while now.
Hour 76: Need to run errands, but must hit tonight's deadline. Is it possible to hire a personal assistant? Will this personal assistant be offended if all of their errands involve pizza, Gatorade, and street drugs?
Hour 78: Maintenance guy keeps coming in my apartment to wash his hands.
Hour 79: Friendly self reminder: I have tickets to two different shows tonight. Must sell one of them.
Hour 80: Maintenance guy is back and asks if I paid rent. He also decides I should make a list of things I want fixed. He does not move from doorway. "Right now?" I ask. He says, "Yes, yes." What? He comes in and opens and shuts doors.
Hour 85: Return to work. In midst of personal hell, get e-mail from project manager. Deadline extension. Yell "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Take nap.
Hour 87: Wake up and decide it is time to sell Chromeo ticket. Post ad on Craigslist.
Hour 87: Many e-mail responses. Select first person that uses multiple exclamation points.
Hour 89: Stand outside Congress Theater to meet said guy. His name is Andy. Tell him I am wearing a red hoodie. Where is he?
Hour 90: Seriously. Where is ANDY?
Hour 90: Approached by a little guy who asks, "Are you from Craigslist?"  Finally. Give him your Chromeo ticket. Another guy pops up out of nowhere and exclaims, "You're from Craigslist?!" Respond "I am Craigslist," then take off running. Dude, you were waiting forever for this ANDY character!
Hour 90: Still running, pass two guys. One shouts, "Hey man! Where the fu*k are you going!?" Slow down, look around, and see that no one else is there. Were they talking to me? What?! Who says that? Also, is it possible they said "ma'am," and not "man"?
Hour 90: Stop by Logan Square Auditorium in hopes of finding extra Dan Deacon ticket for friend. Spot shady looking fella outside weaving back and forth. Run past him in hurry, breathlessly asking, "Are you ... selling ... tickets?" No. He is not. He is absolutely NOT.
Hour 90: Realize you left your own ticket at home, on the other side of town.
Hour 90: Race home and find ticket, soaking wet, in dresser drawer. What?! How did this happen? Pick it up. It falls apart. What?! Have you been watering this drawer at night? You do not understand.
Hour 90: Frantically try to find e-mail that had downloadable ticket. Why do you have 700 new e-mails in your MSU mail account? UGH. Think briefly about Telnet. Oh, Telnet, you laugh. Get frantic again when printer doesn't work. Meantime, race to the bathroom. Lifting up the toilet seat, it actually breaks off entirely and flies onto the floor. It would've been great to put on that list for the maintenance guy.
Hour 91: On the road again. Plodding behind tow truck that has incorrectly hooked up a car so that it's dragging it sideways across both lanes of traffic. Driver seems oblivious. Brother calls. Tells you his power is out. He is sitting in the half-dark illuminated by a lantern, drinking wine and writing in a journal. Apparently where he lives, it is possible to time travel back to 1776.
Hour 93: Finally, Dan Deacon. Halfway through his set, play a round of Twister. Later, lose a shoe in crowd of undulating 17-year-olds.
Hour 97: Sleep, finally. Oh, sweet, sweet, sleep. Sleepity sleep sleep. Contemplate sleeping for the rest of life. Then remember you're only halfway through indexing project.