Wear Elevator Shoes at Coachella!

Friday through Sunday is my work blitz. There's often a waiting period between the time I complete an assignment and the time a client signs off on it, but on Friday through Sunday I know for sure that the work I do is going to queue into the upcoming paycheck.

So Friday through Sunday, I basically sit myself in front of my computer and pound away at the keyboard.

Not mentally healthy. Not for someone with my peculiar psychological persuasion, which is basically: We have always been at war with Eurasia!

One might think that since I had a very pleasant week and have pleasant things to look forward to next week, the present tense might extend backwards and forwards a few days on either side of the actual moment. But no, that's not the way it works. It's always the existential moment: Live! From New York! It's Your Miserable Fucking Life!

Yesterday was an especially acute example of this syndrome. My favorite client has not had any work for 10 days. There are other clients, no dearth of work, but I don't like writing for them very much. Like yesterday I was writing for a client that manufactures (gulp) elevator shoes. And wanted a series of blog posts about how elevator shoes are a high fashion statement. Wear them with kinky streetwear! Wear them when you stalk models on the streets of Paris and New York! Wear them to Coachella!

And I thought: How do you write this shit?

But write it I did because rent and phone bills and the eventual ransoming back of the Little Red Veedub's functionality all depend upon it.

But when I finally came back up for air, I felt horrible. Boy. What terrible series of personal decisions led me up to this last scene in this movie?

That, of course, is the problem in a nutshell. It's not really the last scene in this movie.

But within the very peculiar configuration of my own mind, it's always the last scene in this movie. Sometimes complete with theme music.

Parenthetical question: Did people always hear music in the background of their own personal narratives before there were movies? Do other people hear it now? Or is it just me?

Anyway, I had worked myself into such a raging slather of negativity that I was barely functional for the rest of the evening. When Max called, I could barely speak to him. There was no way I could explain what was going on in my head, and what was going on in my head was totally engulfing me.

"Well, do you have a plan?"

"Sure, I have a plan! To grind out as much money as I possibly can!"

"That's not a plan. That's an outcome."

Point, game and set to the kid.

Really, I am such a fucking drone at this point that I'm boring myself.

BUT… The trees are beginning to put out leaves. See photographic evidence above. And that means spring. New hopes. New beginnings. As an Aries, I'm very good at those. Somewhat less good, as faithful readers will attest, with the follow through.