What if….what if you run out?

One of the quirks of doing the kind of work I’m doing right now (which I will post a clip of for you guys to see sometime, since I feel like about 75% of the people I describe it to are just thinking “yeah, that’s not a thing”)….

..is that when I’m really actually finally writing, even though it’s a script full of under-200 character one-liners and pop culture allusions, I just don’t have the brain-energy to turn around and tell you guys about the all the awesome friends I’ve been taking to Mets games, or the philosophical quandary of “The Usefulness of Boycotting Things” based on the bad behavior of people involved in say, a TV show, or the 5 things I’ve accomplished this week without ONCE going to see the Cyclones even though I wrote down each and every promotional give-away I wanted to score on my calendar…

OR MAD MEN. There is SO MUCH TO SAY vis-a-vis Daddy Drank Up Christmas But At Least We Got Presents…

Anyway, if you’ve been wondering where I am, that’s where, pretending the Brooklyn Lyceum’s weird little Co-Work Space is my office and trying to keep a reasonable schedule.

By the way, I finally understand the cosmic significance of the past 3 years of my life. I got a job at a publishing company where I could have way more responsibility than an Editorial Assistant gets to give me a preview of what moving up the ladder would look like, working with a great bunch of people who talked and thought pretty much like me. And I had trouble with it it – if given my druthers, I’d want to be a strictly development editor, which doesn’t exist anymore. But I was never going to leave that job, so I got laid off, which pointed me to a broke-ass year of Do-Gooding so I could learn that a) nonprofits are not for me, b) education is probably for me in the long run, but likely not with the kindergarteners I got to work with (though I enjoyed them like whoa), and c) there are some environments I can’t assimilate into no matter how hard I try.

Then this writing gig came along, but instead of being the stable full-time occupation I thought I was quitting my job for, it turned into a freestyling deal.

It seems now that the point of all this was to give me the break from office culture I definitely needed. I was burnt out from working corporate, I got stung by working in microcosm non-profit world, and I needed air.

So I’ve spent the past month and a half bungee-ing out to the furthest extremes of sleep disfunction and workstyle chaos, getting it really wrong and really right almost totally by accident.

I’ve had to learn and re-learn that yes, I can intuitively and instinctively do this kind of work, but only if I set the stage appropriately with sleep, snacks, and above all TIME. Yes, I /can/ sit down and write a script in the two hours between darkness and dawn, but it won’t be as good as the script I brainstorm for on Saturday, outline and research on Sunday, flesh out and revise on Monday. SHOCKINGLY.

I know, I know, this should have been obvious, but I needed badly to cut loose and sleep away entire days and be up like a nervous squirrel at 4 am confused as to when the last time I’d spoken aloud to another person was. It was important to sling my laptop in a bag and wander around Brooklyn seeking wi-fi and air conditioning and a workspace that let me focus instead of letting me get caught up in people-watching, people-judging and my future imaginary biographers who might sit in this very seat (except the Starbucks would probably be a Space Liquid station) and think of me typing away.

Anyway, whatever work I find next might be different from anything I’ve ever done…or it might be something I can’t put my heart into since it’s just here to pay the bills…but now I really REALLY value jobs that actually do that. I’ll be super glad to look back at this part of my life, when I was 24 and broke, though I’m not so Michael Scott-ly to assume that since I’m imagining myself on a yacht, that “I’ve obviously done pretty well.”

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