Managing the Mayhem - June Edition

My Brain Has Left the Chat

By Lisa M. Orban

June didn’t just arrive, it kicked down the door, rifled through my desk drawers, and ran off with my cognitive function like a gremlin stealing shiny objects. My brain? Oh, she’s gone. Packed a tiny suitcase, left a note on the counter, and is currently sipping margaritas on a beach somewhere while I stare at my inbox like it’s a cryptic puzzle written in ancient runes.

To be fair, I did this to myself.

I was out of the office for four days for Inklight, four days of festival energy, author wrangling, panels, laughter, late nights, early mornings, and enough social interaction to power a small city. It was wonderful. It was magical. It was exhausting. And somewhere in the middle of all that beautiful chaos, we had the Gala dinner, where I got to wear a stunning purple dress that made me feel like I’d stepped out of a different life entirely. I rarely get the chance to dress up fancy, so yes, I was absolutely twirling like a Disney princess in the hallway before the doors opened.

There were late night discussions that drifted from book sales to dreams of mai tais on a beach, the kind of conversations that only happen when you’re running on adrenaline, camaraderie, and the collective hope that if we sell enough books, maybe one day we will get that beach. I met some of my authors in person for the very first time, which is always a surreal and joyful experience, and I got to hug the ones who’ve been to Indies United events before, the familiar faces who feel like old friends at this point. And then there were the other hosts, the ones who understand the particular brand of chaos we navigate. We commiserated, encouraged each other, swapped stories, and slid strong drinks across the table with the kind of knowing look only peers can give.

It was everything I love about this work wrapped into four whirlwind days: connection, creativity, community, and just enough mischief, laughter and storytelling to keep things interesting. And then, of course, I walked back into the office this morning and my inbox detonated like it had been waiting for its moment to strike. It took one look at me and said: “Oh good, you’re back. We need to talk.” Then it exploded. But honestly? After a weekend like that, even the mayhem feels a little easier to wrangle.

The Month’s Plot Twists (So Far)

• My inbox multiplied like tribbles while I was gone. I left with 0 open emails. I returned to 147. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I just accept it now.

• My to-do list has unionized and is currently negotiating for better working conditions.

• My brain has decided to operate on airplane mode. No notifications. No updates. Just vibes.

• Authors have questions, updates, emergencies, and “quick things” that are never quick.

• Technology sensed weakness and immediately pounced.

• Coffee is now both a beverage and a coping mechanism.

• I tried to form a coherent sentence earlier and accidentally invented a new dialect of English.

The Lesson June Is Trying to Teach Me

Sometimes your brain just… leaves the chat. And honestly? That’s fine. We push hard, juggle flaming chainsaws, and keep the wheels turning even when the wheels are square and the road is uphill both ways. Every now and then, the brain simply says, “You know what? I’m going to step out for a moment. You handle things.” And somehow, despite the sudden cognitive vacation, we still do.

The work gets done. The books move forward. The authors get what they need. The mayhem is managed or at least herded into a corner with snacks until it calms down. It’s not always graceful, and it’s rarely linear, but it’s enough. And on the days when the brain wanders off without warning, that’s all we can ask for.

Looking Ahead to July

June may have stolen my brain, but July is already peeking around the corner with a mischievous grin and a clipboard full of new chaos. But that’s okay. I’ll find my brain eventually. She always wanders back when she gets hungry.

Until then, keep managing your mayhem or at least pretending you are.

Pretending still counts.

Always.