Many years ago I had a job with hours that ended in the middle of the night. The drive home, from Edison to Trenton, New Jersey, was about 20 miles. It was a straight shot down Rt. 1 South, with virtually no other vehicles.
I would occasionally doze off for a few seconds, and then awaken in a panic and feeling grateful to be alive. I often wondered if I had run a red light or narrowly missed a collision during my brief naps.
Editing can, at times, be like that drive home. To wit: I just edited (I hope) a number of articles, including the titles, "How To Remove Rust from Brakes," "How To Use Derivatives To Manage Foreign Exchange," and "NASDAQ Technical Analysis."
I had a good night's sleep, it's only about 10 a.m., and yet I find myself driving my '67 Triumph TR4A, top down, right into the arms of Morpheus.
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The Unbearable Rightness of Editing
