I’m “between clients” this week, and hence engaged in little of overtly economic value. It’s at times like these that the office becomes more like a Day Centre than an actual office. (It gets you out and about; you can get yourself a nice cup of tea whenever you want; there are like-minded souls to chat with; and even the occasional piece of light occupational therapy, just to keep those brain cells ticking over.)
As someone whose default setting is an unspecified low-level anxiety and a vague sense of impending doom (which will somehow involve being “found out”, although I couldn’t tell you what for exactly), this comes as sweet relief indeed. Last Friday night, as my inner anxiety-butterfly did its usual fluttering about, in search of somewhere upon which to alight and tremble, I realised that for once, I had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT WHATSOEVER, EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE REALLY IS AS FINE AS CAN BE. Which was almost disconcerting, as if my security blanket (*) had been snatched away. (Yes, readers: I can even feel anxious about not feeling anxious. It’s a rare skill.)
(And in actual fact, I woke up at around 3:00 on Tuesday morning in a complete state, having just dreamt that I was in major trouble at work… for, um, typing “joy division” into my office manager’s Google. Bearing in mind that I never normally get nightmares – the worst that normally happens being a tedious, never-ending series of Public Transport Frustrations – this was clearly a case of my anxiety glands having to work the night shift.)
So, anyhow, I’m using the time to get through all manner of overdue items on my to-do list (once a certain Procrastination Quotient has been factored in, of course – why, I’m even catching up with long-ignored blogs – hello, everybody!) And the old freelance side of things gets ramped up a couple of notches in the process, of course, to the extent that I can be quite the Picky Madam: why, this very morning, I turned down a last-minute interview with the drummer from the Kaiser Chiefs, no less. (The reason being that I dislike the Kaiser Chief with a rare intensity, particularly that godawful “Ruby-Ruby-Ruby-RUBAY!” effort, which remains my most loathed song of 2007 to date.)
Life of Riley, basically. Which soon shall pass, obv. So I’m loving it while it lasts.
(Reader’s Voice: “So, does this mean a return to your earlier, funnier, me-me-me posts? We liked you when you did them!”)
(Author’s Voice: “I wouldn’t bet on it, Buster…”)
(*) Bad metaphor. Anxiety-butterflies don’t land on blankets; they land on… I dunno… toadstools or something? Sorry, I’m out of practise at this kind of thing. Anyone got any spare pop stars?
troubled diva 