How to Wednesday

1) Stay up until 4am the night before, desperately trying to get some editing out of the way, and then preparing the artwork for the publicity for the staff Independence Day party you are organising on Friday.
ii) Be very tired. And, until lunchtime, unshowered.
c) Talk to your boss, and become even more worried about all the work you have to do.
2x2) Meet a Real Life awesome journalist (Fred Pearce of New Scientist) and have nothing to say and no mental energy to initiate a conversation.
101) Spend considerable portions of your working day desperately trying to organise things for the party, in particular a mariachi band and whether/how we can pay for it. Get frustrated. Spend some time panicking about the important thing you have to write, and the fact that none of the people you need to talk to in order to write it are on the right continent or answering your emails. Spend the rest of your time answering emails, playing phone tag, and struggling to get the same bloody editing out of the way.
3!) Spend an hour doing a "conversation class" (ie talking in English) with a Mexican friend who is shortly going to an Anglophone conference. Talk about the BBC - after your friend is foolish enough to ask if it is American - and thence public institutions, corruption, the rule of law...
seven) Go into town with your newly-arrived colleague and buddy and fellow-intern. Puruse the stalls selling flags and bunting and streamers and paper decorations and tacky jewellery and plastic trumpets for Independence Day. Buy decorations for the party. And two false moustaches. Try not to go overboard. Buy bread. Expound upon the delights of Texcoco. Eat esquites sitting on a damp wall in the darkening square. Go into the market for fruit and ribbons. Buy balloons for the party. Buy CDs for the party. Finally drag yourself, and a wilting amiga, round the supermarket. Buy groceries. And food and drink for the party.
ate) Unpack your shopping, sterilise your fruit, and eat toast.
IX) Contemplate making muffins with your aging fruit and brand new wholemeal flour. Rapidly realise that you are going insane.
diez) At 11pm, head over to your office, knowing you MUST get that bloody editing out of the way and email it off tonight. Be slower than you hoped. Fall asleep at your desk.
legs) At around 12.30 spend half an hour talking to the nice security guard who has come upon you while patrolling the corridors. Wish he would leave.
hours) Go into a trance. Listen to Whitney Houston songs on youtube that you loved when you were 11 (while working on transcribing corrections, not requiring thought).
suit) Finally finish at a little after 3am.
14) Squelch across the sodden grass in the dark, considering building an ark in response to the Biblical levels of recent rain. Be terrified of the important thing you have to write tomorrow. And the people to track down and things to read before you can do that. And the finalising of the mariachi band. And the finishing and printing and posting of posters. And the buttonholing of half the staff to try to get enough money for the mariachis. And the finalising of the arrangements for food. And the emails. And the Spanish class. And the friend's conversation class. And the nervous breakdown.

Thinly-spread? Me?

Like the butter on the Queen's cucumber sandwiches.