The Accidental Freelancer

I think I’m pretty much built for fulltime work. Being on a freelance schedule leads to me oversleeping and working all night and eating dark M&Ms like they’re magic life pills. So it’s probably better if I have to show up the same place every day with the security of knowing I can show up there tomorrow. But not in an office.

I like to do different things every day, but I also like my routine. I get frustrated at a desk for 8 hours at a stretch, and I need to work someplace where there are distractions (what with distraction being vital to the creative process) but where I can also put my headphones on and focus. It’s important that i be able to come up with ideas – you don’t have to use them, but I need to be able to spitball around the right idea until it strikes me. Once I’m done striking it back just to show it who’s boss, I’m ready to roll.  

Actually… it kind of sounds like I’m totally built for the freelance life, doesn’t it? Except for the sleeping, which this ridiculous heat should actually help me straighten out. I’m applying for a variety of part time work with various literary agencies and anyone who doesn’t sound too crazy on Craigslist, because a stable MKP is a happy MKP.

* * * * 
Speaking of a happy MKP, how ’bout those Mets?! I was feeling so anxious about money and writing and Freelance Life that as we got surrounded by annoying people behind us, the 40 high school students filing out and in and in and out in front of us and the Indecisive Family that couldn’t decide whether to sit in their rows or in *giggle* not their rows, and let’s stand in the aisle and talk about whether to go down three rows or up three rows and are there seats there? Oh, is that people coming? Let’s stand here and wait to see if they’re coming to this row or not. ….that with all these distractions and the loud noises, I didn’t know if I was going to last the whole game. 

Fortunately an hour-long rain delay rinsed out most of the riff-raff, leaving only dedicated fans, families with children out of school who couldn’t face having to entertain them at home, and this random cadre of Tigers fans who came out of somewhere….Detroit, possibly? My intrepid baseball companion Sarah.of.a.lesser.god and I moved over and up until we were in the 3rd row from the top closer to home plate than third base. We stuck it out, mocked some lousy smack talk (i.e. "Go back to 8 mile"….I replied, "You think all Tigers fans came from Eminem’s trailer park?! Why not just tell them to get back to enjoying that cool Motown sound?") and were rewarded with a sound Mets-inflicted thrashing. Because of the rain delay and the fact that we took a lot of time in the 3rd inning to get through the batting order twice and score 8 runs, the game didn’t end until 11:30. By the end, it was real die hard fans only, and those in the infield were role-calling our guys and cheering when they got the nod, cheering when the White Sox-Braves score came up, and cheering when the loud static hum from this one speaker finally cut out. It was a good night. 

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