Coffee heat rising

Prerogatives of the Self-Employed

Okay…hang onto your hats. In about 15 minutes, I’m going to knock off working and take a nap. It’s 11:07 a.m. as I scribble.  And why? you ask? Because I can. It’s a prerogative of self-employment.

Before you go “That’s exactly what I suspected self-employment was all about,” bear in mind that another prerogative of the self-employed is to work from 5:30 a.m. to 10:00 or 11:00 p.m., seven days a week. We might call that, actually, a “definition” of the self-employed.

Last night, as usual, I knocked off around ten o’clock.

This morning, Cassie the Corgi awakened me at 5:00 by barfing all over the bed. I had to leave the house around 6:30 or so to get to my weekly bidness meeting in Scottsdale, so this was convenient in its way: it got me out of the sack a little early. After hauling the comforter out to the garage and stuffing it into the washer, I began the Thursday morning charge-around, by way of getting myself out the door.

The food served by the restaurant where we meet is best described as inedible, and so I usually bolt down breakfast before leaving. After the clean-up activities and given that my hair had to be set before I could bathe, paint my face, and get dressed, and that I hadn’t checked the e-mail yet (always a time suck), I noshed on some leftover soup and slurped down some coffee while flying around the house and office. Poured the rest of the coffee into a travel mug, leapt into the car, and started driving.

Three hours later, I fly in the house, hit the “rinse” cycle on the washer (since the comforter has been sitting there that long wadding itself into a wrinkled mess), and I’m effing STARVED. All the way across the city, I’ve been dreaming of a handful of tiny little red, white, and purple new potatoes roasted in a panful of butter, thinking how maybe that will settle my stomach, which hurts on top of trying to tell me it wants food.

It’s still very early, but craving meat, too, I decide to make an actual meal. Before 10:00 a.m., the potatoes, a small piece of steak, and a fistful of salad have made it to a plate, which now resides on the backyard dining table.

Meanwhile, I’ve sent off two emails to colleagues, reviewed a document in draft, set up two new meetings, and concocted another endless list of things To Do. I’ve checked the website of the distinguished Changing Hands Bookstore’s Phoenix branch and have found, yea verily, a women’s reading group. (I wish to associate myself with such-like because I believe schmoozing in organized groups of women is a fine way to generate interest in the Boob Book.) I add “visit Changing Hands” to the To-Do List. I’ve reviewed some of the work I did yesterday for the Client and considered the next steps. I’ve conceived an idea for the next Writers Plain and Simple post. I’ve checked the stats for that site and reflected that CoPromote isn’t exactly burning up the world when it comes to calling in new readers.

Now it is 11:27 a.m. and I am going to take a nap. So early is it that by 1:00 p.m. I’ll be back in the saddle, riding off into the sunset. And into the dark of night.


3 thoughts on “Prerogatives of the Self-Employed”

  1. Yep. I was able to quit work at 3:30 p.m. Friday to go help out at my nephew’s school auction. Tomorrow I’m going to take a chunk of the day off in order to hang out with a dear friend and help her set up the living room for the writers’ group she hosts.
    Of course, it’s Sunday and I just finished putting up a post. Next I’ll go buy a headset with built-in mike for the podcast I’ve been invited to on Tuesday. After that I’ll finish working up my notes for the podcast. Finally, I’ll work on a proposal for Woman’s Day.
    Day of rest, indeed. But at least I get to hang with my pard tomorrow.

    • One of my editors, who’d spent several years freelancing before taking on actual employment (poor man), once remarked that freelancing is great because it allows you to pick your own hours…any 18 hours of the day you please!

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