Skip by jingo

Right. Right. Hayfoot, strawfoot, raw from the country, skip by jingo, left, left. Left my wife and forty-‘leven kids, an old gray mare, and a peanut stand. Did I do right? Right. Right …

This on finishing a 615-page (155,000-word) manuscript well enough written that I spent the vast majority of my time untangling nine uniquely disasterous sets of citations, endnotes, and reference lists. Memories of accounting work for the finance and accounting branch of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in Frankfurt-am-Main roll out from the corners of thirty years ago. Right brain, left brain. The twain alas meet in editorial work, certainly at the bottlewasher grade. Details details. Consistency. To what avail?

Twenty-files now uploaded to my server, waiting for a client to retrieve them. Haven’t written client. I know perfectly well that I simply must compare all the reference lists against each other to be certain that shared entries are identical.

Skill sets

I hereby invoke my God-given right to procrastinate, at which skill I excel, thus meeting head on the thorny issue of wanting (or not) to work on an exquisite summer afternoon.