(I got a letter last week addressed to '[Insert Real Name Here], Freelancer', and it made me think momentarily of myself as some sort of medieval mercenary, with a pen for hire instead of a lance. But I hope it won't come to that.)
As I read with foreboding the news that Qantas is going to take advantage of the new anti-worker legislation to slash the wages of the people who keep its planes safe and in the air, and contemplate with even more foreboding the Qantas flights to which I have just committed myself, I find time to thank the gods for giving me an opportunity to set up life as my own boss.
The excessively modest turnover of this one-woman small business -- for which I work not only as primary producer but also as unpaid accountant, typist, filing clerk, receptionist, tea lady, driver, cleaner, courier and cat wrangler -- is compensated for, a hundred times over, by the freedom of it.
For even when driven by external schedules as I am at the moment, there's still the extraordinary freedom and happiness of not being a creature of the institution -- any institution -- and not having to play by anyone's rules but my own. I finished work at 3 am this morning when I hit the 'Send' button on the third of three theatre reviews, drained the glass of lovely lovely Nepenthe sauvignon blanc (budget priorites firmly in place here), and stumbled off to bed, which is why I've given myself permission to spend this morning blogging and gossiping on the phone.
What keeps me one step ahead at times like this is my love of the list as a literary genre, which reaches its apotheosis whenever I have a party and begin with a list of the lists I have to make. Today's To Do list looks like this:
* read 2 late-submitted Honours theses and write examiner's reports
* pack for overnight stay at convalescent sister's house tomorrow
* set timer for premiere of Commander-in Chief (Donald Sutherland rules)
* clean out cat litter tray
* rig up Heath Robinson arrangement with extension cord from kitchen to laundry now that laundry power point is comprehensively stuffed and lethal
* research adult entry one-semester Home Maintenance for Dummies course
* pick up new glasses (first pair of THREE: can't wear graduated lenses, and need prescription sunnies)
* mortgage cats, house, soul etc to pay for 3x new glasses in spite of Extras "cover" in insanely expensive health "insurance", snarl, spit
* chase up tickets for Wednesday's Fringe show (al fresco commedia dell'arte -- the mind boggles)
* go to Bunning's to buy lightweight folding picnic chair for al fresco etc, to be used again on Friday night when the Festival proper opens and the spectacle of painted and illuminated giant hot-air balloons will float across the night sky above the river as we scoff our gourmet picnic supper and local wine: Adelaide at its best
and finally
* rearrange all this stuff into a logical running order.
9 comments:
Lists rock!
From one busy lady to another - good luck & remember sleep is only optional for a short period, unless you like white & hugging yourself a lot.
Enjoy the fringe - come & see our show if you have time (ba ha)
Donald Sutherland rules
My mother always maintains that he is the sexiest man in pyjamas. Mind you, the last concert she went to was Leonard Cohen ...
Heh. Leonard Cohen rules, too. Both gentlemen have always been too old for me, sexiest-man-in-pyjamas-wise, but you can't deny the talent.
See you there, somewhere! Seems like I should be able to make the festival this weekend (3-6 Mar) so tell me if you have any suggestions of reely good things to do, because I find the program a bit baffling.
Ahem, I have an announcement to make.
I sat next to Donald Sutherland at the opera in Los Angeles. (it was Luhrmann & Martin's production of La Boheme.)
The lady with him told me my outfit was "cute."
That is the end of the announcement.
Oh, my.
That is some announcement. I've ever been up close and personal to the famous, that I can think of. (Well, writers -- but not an actual serious movie star.)
What were you wearing?
(Elsewhere, will try to get to emailing you, re festival. The giant painted hot-air balloons over the river on Friday night should be good. Writers' Week starts on Sunday morning. Which program is confusing -- W.Week, Fringe, or Festival proper -- this last a dog, I agree -- ?)
Festival proper. Writer's week is fine, and i didn't realise there was a fringe!
Don't worry too much -- sounds like you're busy!
Holy shit, Lucy. Did you consider asking him how he approached the role of the lecturer in Animal House? and what his real opinion of Paradise Lost is? Or were you suitably speechless? (I can't even think of intelligent things to say to Frank Woodley when my daughter gets his autograph.)
I was a bit suss on the cute outfit comment, turning it over later, I thought it might've been a bit cryptic - LA ladies really do seem to dress in Richard Tyler & Armani and I had on a collection of opshop and homemade couture & a Tom Baker as Dr Who scarf round my neck.
Genevieve I eavesdropped like mad rather than attempting chitchat, thanks to those disturbing flashbacks to Don't Look Now. They were dissing the hell out of this building which was next door to the theatre we were all sitting in.
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