I think reality only punishes me for relaxing or being lazy. Thats seems to be when clients freak out and shit falls apart. But when I work hard, wether for someone else or for myself, things just… flow. No one complains to me. Nothing blows up.
This does not pair well with my desire to be idly rich.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
“What do you do when (if) you ever feel like giving up?” – theaudacityofswope
There is no such goddamn thing. There is only getting up and doing it all over again, smarter and harder, until something ups and fucking kills you, because that’s the only thing big enough to stop you.
This is The Great Work, and all you have to do is choose it, not look back and never fucking stop until you’re in your box, under the dirt and flowers are growing between your teeth.
And that is why I’ll never be asked to do motivational speaking. G’night.
– Warren Ellis
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
So here’s a bit of what I was working on. My sketchbook is a mess. It would probably mean nothing to another designer. But I just get enough down so I can remember what I was thinking. That way I can get the idea out of my head and make room for something else.
When I started as a designer, I thought sketching was mostly a waste of time. I felt that it was much easier to modify your art on screen, so why would you waste time with a pencil. And I even had a coworker bitch me out for asking the boss for a sketchbook, because I could ‘just sketch on the back of user copier paper’.
Now… I always have to start with sketches. The computer is too concrete. And once I start messing with something digitally, I have a hard time putting it down until it’s done. Sketching on paper is fast and loose and much more inspirational for me.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
It’s now a bit after 6:30 am, and I just sent off some art to the client. I promised them something by this morning, and unfortunately I seem to be better working on this particular project in the wee hours of the day. But I quite like the design, (*knock on wood*), and the payment for the job is pretty good.
This was yesterday’s “picture of the day”. I took it on my way down to Penn Photo to get some pictures developed. I like it, though I’m having a hard time thus far saying why. It has nothing that jumps out at you. But it’s distinctly city, and of a street not yet made up totally of homogenous boxes.
Gawd. It’s getting light out. I really need to go to sleep now. I have a hard time sleeping in daylight.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I need to be more efficient about tracking what I estimated a job to cost. Whenever possible, I generate a “real” estimate with Quickbooks (QB), so it’s all in there, waiting for billing. And for smaller, “promo jobs”, I’ve taking to creating an empty folder inside the job folder, with the price I estimated in the name of the folder.
But the bigger jobs that don’t make it into QB also don’t get that little pricing folder. Ideally, I should just promise to always input big jobs into QB. But yeah… let’s be realistic about what I actually will do. And having to go back and search through emails 6 months old for a price just isn’t cutting it.
So price-labeled folder or…?
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I realize I haven’t actually provided any substantial update on my condition since the night I got home from my first trip to the hospital. And that one was written under the heavy influence of Percocet.
The first couple days back were as fine as could be expected. The pain in my side was still there, but at least I knew it would go away. Those injections in my stomach freaked me out on a regular schedule, (twice a day). But I had no trouble getting work done around the house, and I could walk around the neighborhood enough to run errands and look for a doctor.
Doctors and medicine in DC are scary. The hospital is probably still totaling up all the money I owe them. And when it came time to find a doctor out in the real work to perform regular blood work for the next six months, well…
They gave me a list of places I could supposedly get the work done. Like everything else done by the hospital once I told them I didn’t have insurance, they seemed to assume I’m destitute. The list of doctors was actually a list of DC’s public health centers. I knew it was a bad sign when the pictures of their facilities on their own website scared me. But after consulting with a lifetime DC resident, I learned that there was really only one of the centers where I was more likely to be treated than shot. And visiting there, I really wasn’t so sure about that. Despite my assurances that I would likely be dead by then from unregulated drug usage, a screener told me that I couldn’t get any treatment without a complete physical, the first appointment for which was two months hence.
I went home, and did something that feels increasingly abnormal in this information age. I asked a neighbor for a recommendation on a local doctor. Quick as that, they gave me a phone number, and I had an appointment scheduled–for the next day–within the hour with no hassle. A doctor who turned out to be a pulmonary specialist, and was very understanding about the money.
Of course, no matter how good the doctor is, it doesn’t guarantee how my body will react. Just days after leaving the hospital, I had a sore backside, that made sitting uncomfortable. The news from the doctor was that my medicine was actually over-effective, and needed reigning in. Despite regulation, my “INR” continued to climb beyond the desired range, and the pain in my lower back followed along the same path. Soon enough I was able only to spend all day on my back. Every attempt to stand meant excruciating pain shooting up my back, and dull pain increasing the longer I was on my feet.
By the time it got to the point where I nearly passed out while trying to stand one morning, I was paranoid enough to be ready to visit the ER again. (It was a weekend, and the doctor was closed). Bryan was more than generous in offering to take me there, and waiting a ridiculous amount of time for me. Despite numerous expensive tests, they found nothing, which came as quite a relief, given that internal bleeding is a side effect of the drugs I’m now on. I left the hospital for the second time, with a prescription for pain killers.
Life since then has revolved around trying to find the best way to accomplish everything in life while horizontal on the couch. Standing up involved a long drawn-out process, and was kept to a minimum, occasionally accompanied by Percocet. As recently as last Thursday, any trip further than the front door involved a taxi cab, and considerable recovery time. And that’s mostly my life for about 2 weeks. Sleeping, working on my laptop. Lots of bad TV and podcasts. And the big excursion once a day to check my mail.
It’s not all bad. If people are to be believed, this was all a great diet regimen, since everyone’s saying i look thinner. Dunno how that could be considering how much ice cream Shannon brought me. *shrug*
I have been slowly getting better. The big aches and pains disappeared fairly quickly once my drugs were balanced. And the lower level stuff has been slowly working it’s way out. Last Friday, I started taking walks. Just a block or two the first day, and then getting longer. Today I was actually able to go to a lunch meeting and run some errands, with only some twinges. Sitting in chairs is still not easy, but it’s getting there.
By next week, I’ll probably (*knock on wood*) be relatively back to normal. I can and probably will still feel the tightness in my side from the original clot, but without pain. And I lose my breath more easily, presumably due to thinner blood. My biggest complaint, though, is the prohibition on fruits and vegetables. (Though given the stories on the news lately….).
I do want to thank Sarah, Bryan, and Shannon for all their help; and everyone else for their offers.
If I knew all this could be caused by spending the day with Vail…. 🙂
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
random fact…
A few minutes ago, the water running in the gutters jumped the curb and was flowing over the sidewalks. Damn glad I live on the 4th floor. Three major thunderstorms in the last 4 days . In an area where we previously were lucky to get 1 or 2 thunderstorms a year. And at least one major storm earlier in the week.
It’s giving my laptop battery a good run for it’s memory.
…
Yay… the neighborhood is going up in smoke! A minute ago I was listening to the rain outside, when there was a terrible electrical arcing sound, like something out of a Death Ray in a James Bond film. When I went to the window to look, a large cloud of smoke way rising up through the rain. Given the lack of bodies, (yes, I am paranoid enough to go down and check), I’m guessing the rain just seeped in and blew out a street lamp. Still… you know… smoke and electricity!
Sometime between the raindrops, I got out this weekend. Not much, because I still feel very lazy. But a few things. I checked out two new exhibits at the National Gallery, (Photographic Discoveries and the Renaissance of Venetian Painting). Also finally visited the National Museum of the American Indian. Really… aside from the atrium, not that impressive. Watched three movies, this weekend, (Transamerica, Mrs Henderson Presents, and Memento). All good, though not quite great.
I’m remarkably relaxed, going into this coming work week. I spent all of last week stressing out about work. I had a whole string of projects, while not behind, were taking a noticeable amount of time. And I really believe my clients should be care free. But I finished out last week well, catching up on all my major projects, and having picked up a couple new, small projects. I designed several pieces over the course of the week, which not only my clients liked, but I was impressed with as well, and I didn’t have to kill myself on any of them. (*knock wood*).
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I’ve talked much shit, in person and in this journal, about the strength necessary to work for yourself. The ability to even conceive of something so outside the social norm. The necessity of having the skills and contacts to implement any such idea. The intestinal fortitude necessary to deal with the overwhelming incompetence and bureaucracy you’re bound to face. The natural assumption—and admittedly most often result—of a successful attempt at controlling your whole life instead of just 16 hours of it, is a wonderful sense of accomplishment and self-worth. Like you’ve broken out and are now master of your destiny. But few good things don’t have a darker side to them. In what passes for one of my more sullen moments recently, I thought about what that control actually meant. My greatest fear since going out on my own has been failure, resulting in ending up living on the street. It’s not a fear I can simply ignore. The street very literally looms large in my life, just outside my giant bay windows. I cannot walk more than a block anywhere in this city without being pan-handled to by someone supposedly living on the street, with thoughts of “There but for the grace of some desperate clients…”. It’s a simple enough fear on it’s own; really not just limited really to people who work for them-self. But I think the limited—very limited— success I have had so far (knock wood) makes it all the more vibrant. I’ve proven that I can control my own life successfully. But the street is still out there. Not everyone who ends up there fell on hard times. Some people went there with conscious effort. The temptation is ALWAYS there not to do the more unpleasant tasks. Not to deal with the difficult people. Not to make the awkward calls. While I, and most people that would be considered mentally healthy, choose to live a cleaner, more peaceful lifestyle, complete control really means complete control. There’s no safety net… no business or social requirements that keep me off the street, anymore.
“Beware the dark side, Luke”
Morbid and ridiculous, I know. So I often pull myself away from the window with a bit too much force, and look at my apartment. And I think about how much crap I have. Things unnecessary to every day life. And if I ever did end up out of here, how much would I regret that DVD, or those new jeans, or… Certainly inspires some serious cleaning and purging binges. And makes me cringe every time I get a frivolous, meaningless gift.
I have no doubt I am seriously fucked up. But then… would I be better off worrying about mortgage payments and what Allison thinks of me?
Of course, when I look at my cat, nothing in the world can keep me from smiling.
*Editor’s Note: No… I wasn’t particularly depressed when I wrote this. I had intended to write many things that night, which had been building up over the holidays. But when finger was put to keyboard, that’s all that came out.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I’m loath to write too much about Indri. I don’t want to seem obsessive. But she didn’t seem happy that I edited her out of my last post. It really was just because I thought the writing was bad.
“He who asks a question is a fool for five minutes; he who does not ask a question remains a fool forever.”
It amounted to Indri being very inquisitive. It’s not a trait she’s proud of. Fear of being pushy, I suppose. But I love it. When she’s in that moment, she’s got the unashamed curiosity of a little child. (Again with the “cute” shit). It’s also nice to see someone unconcerned about admitting they don’t know something. Nothing makes for a better conversationalist than someone asking questions. And — personal preference — I like nothing more in another person than the ability to hold an interesting discussion.
There were other parts — other thoughts — that reinforced all this. But I haven’t figured out how to convey those thoughts well, yet. (I really wanna sleep).
I’m leaving for New York in about 2… 2 and a half hours. I’ll no doubt be very cranky for lack of sleep. But then again… I am going to New York. I probably won’t stand out.
I’ll miss Pixel. But other than that, this trip will give me good reason to ignore my clients. Stupid thought occurred to me today: There is really no time whatsoever where I can say “Yay! No more work. All free now to do something completely unproductive.”. Not that I don’t slack occasionally. Just that it’s is always a trade-off now. There’s no completely free time left in my life.
All in how you look at it, I guess.
Made another minor discovery about two days ago.I have been doing my second-best to try and avoid concentrated sugar — mainly in candy. There’s not a whole lot of noticeable effect, day to day, other than the occasional need to fight down a urge for chocolate. I still obtain candy, occasionally, such as the package of gourmet sweets given to me by a business contact recently. Couldn’t let it go to waste. But I was getting headaches every day. Occurred to me the only days I was getting headaches were those days I was eating a lot of chocolate or candy. Left the candy alone for the last 2 days. No headaches.
(Somewhere out there, Indri is going “duh!”)
(Somewhere out there, Sara is going “duh!”)
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Slowly catching up on work. I’ll still be busy through at least the end of the year. And I’ve had two potentially lucrative referrals in the past week, which won’t kick in until after the holidays. And still a dozen jobs on back burners.
No… I don’t have a personal life. Why do you ask?
I think I will have to institute some news rules, for a couple clients. I still very much want to be available whenever and wherever my clients need me. But some of them seem to take more advantage of that than others. If you call me at 11:30 PM, it better be a major deadline. If the only time you call me, it’s after 7 PM on a weekday or before 9 AM on a weekend, you better be paying me well, on a regular basis. I can deal with the occasional or irregular call or email. Hell… email at 3 AM on Christmas for all I care. I can ignore those. But I think I’m going to have to set thresholds for proper communication, and when a client exceeds those limits within a specific range of time, I’ll stop taking their calls at unreasonable hours. You can leave a message, and I’ll get back to you at the next possible chance. I’m not trying to punish the clients. The major benefit will actually be keeping me from cringing every time my phone rings, and getting snarky with clients who are paying me good money.
And god’s honest truth… if you’re going to hire someone to do work for you, you should really be AT LEAST as prepared as you expect them to be. Really nothing irks me more than to have clients repeatedly come to me, completely unprepared, needing rushed work, with specs that change every couple hours… and come back again, and again, and again,… in the same manor. Do you have any idea how much money and time you could save; how much better the quality of your finished product would be… if you simply planned ahead far enough? I’m not asking anyone to be anally organized. But don’t tell me you need an ad in 3 hours and expect me to write it and design it. Don’t tell me the black and white tri-fold brochure we abandoned weeks ago now will be an 8-page letter-sized booklet in full color going to press tomorrow. And god… if you really can’t help yourself… don’t balk when I charge you less than any other respectable designer would for half as much work. I want to do the best work possible for you. All I ask in exchange is enough to live comfortably. And my standards for comfort are pretty damn low.
Eh.
I had a good weekend. Holiday dinner with friends on Friday night, followed by ice cream cones in 20 degree weather, and the biggest love sac I’ve ever seen. (It may have even given Kier a back injury). It’s nice seeing friends from school. Just wish we got together often enough to be able to talk about things other than college. (We do stray into the occasional geekiness, but…)
Finally found that last Christmas gift on Saturday. After the usual awkward apartment building party that night, I went to Chiaroscuro for their closing night. Talk about a complete blowout. Over 500 people showed up. It took 5 minutes just to find somewhere to sit at one point. But the music was great, and everyone came out. So many people, that I didn’t even get to talk to some of those I knew. Took off at an “early” 2:30 to catch the last train home, though I hear the party went ’til at least 4 AM. I can’t complain about any night that ends with a kiss on the cheek from a beautiful woman, though.
Sunday was incredibly lazy, though. Really… don’t think I can point to a single productive accomplishment, outside of some text edits to a catalog I’m working on. Never touched the painting. I still want to work on it. I’m thinking if I can get enough work done during the next couple of days, I’ll cut out in the evening and paint. Or at the very least, draw.
Am I really an adult?
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I literally spent the entire day — minus potty breaks and a 20 minute bout of sunbathing on the roof — entering information into a website. Not designing. Not coding the site. Not debugging. Not optimizing. Just entering data. I inputted about 350 articles, after stripping them from another, older iteration of the site, and about 100 photos. I still have probably 50 to 75 articles to go. Then the site will have to be debugged. I already don’t know why the “see other stuff like this” box isn’t working. And the calendar is completely batshit.
And I want to have it ready to show the client Monday.
This is one of the reasons I didn’t go to the Rave tonight.It would run till morning, with the inevitable stop for breakfast. And I probably couldn’t get back to my place to sleep ’til noon. I would lose almost a whole day, which I don’t think I have. One of my friends reasoned something to the effect that ‘sometimes you have to suck it up and do the bad stuff instead of having fun’. Which is really kind of crap. The actual performing of the work itself is kind of neutral, enjoyment-wise. The client works for a cause I find very important. And it doesn’t hurt I’ll be making some fairly serious money… mostly due to the work I perform this weekend.
Meanwhile, come Tuesday morning, I can go throw organic debris from the Attack Cat at passing politicians in Lafayette Park if I want to. This is the thing about being your own boss. You really get to do whatever the fuck you feel like. And some of it you get paid for. So I don’t gauge this night of work as “bad”, but simply as a night of work. Tomorrow may be a night of wild sex with a supermodel. Or more work. But I love my work. And I love supermodels. So … you know… whichever.
Said friend has been trashing my career of choice and business in particular since I’ve known ’em. So I don’t get too worked up about such things they say, anyway.
(I really have a hard time using the term “career”. It seems kind of dirty, like “republican” or “Californian”. While I never forget that I may eventually go back to working for someone else, in the meantime, all things 9-5 “for the man” leave a nasty copper tang in my throat.)
The thought of a whole night of Techno kind of scared me anyway. I enjoy some seriously fucked up music… but I still have a hard time calling anyone who can’t get up and perform on a stage in a small club, a “musician”. And I’d certainly be hard pressed to pay the $45 cover charge. For $5, I could have gone to Chiaroscuro and listened to Industrial music until 3 AM, (the drunk, redneck cousin of Techno).
My friends ideas of what it is to get out and have fun doing ‘crazy’ things, lately, kind of disturb me too. Anything that requires you to deal with Ticketmaster is not “wild and crazy”. Things that you plan 3 weeks ahead of time aren’t either. Road trip? Great! To a haven of old, conservative, white people surrounded by family restaurants and tourist gift shops? Um… no.
I’m not asking my friends to be completely insane all the time. I’d have to… you know… beat them about the head or something. But I swear one of them’s gonna be inviting me to a Barry Manilow concert soon. Then I would have to strangle them with their pillow. And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to even lift the water cooler, much less toss it through a window. Even if I did, the resulting hernia would make it hard to run.
I’m not sure any of my friends have a strong grip on reality. Do I attract people with identity crisis? (We’re still a tiny bit young for mid-life crisis).Oh of course they’re good people, or I wouldn’t call them friend; a word that means too much to me. But I’ve got people here who can’t face their professional life; people who can’t face their interpersonal life, people who can’t face their intrapersonal life. (And if they’re out there reading this, planning my slow castration with a rusty spoon… remember… you’ve all told me exactly the same things about yourselves. I’m not exactly Yuri Geller here, delving into the unknown). But just… when do we finally break down, and be honest with ourselves. When do we say “This is stupid. I won’t do this anymore”.
Yeah… I’m not not a shining example for everyone to follow. I’ve always been a bit more grounded… but I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing. If friends and family knew how far back and to what extent I do and say things because I know ahead of time that “this is the appropriate thing to say to elicit X reaction…”, they’d probably look at me like one of those robots in the movies who’ve become too human. (We’re talking pre-teen, here). More often than not, when I’m being difficult or a jerk, it’s because I’m simply tired of knowing what I should say or do, to make whoever happy.
And only a year or so back, did I notice that the cycles of clarity and depression that started towards the end of college and through my first few ‘reality’ years had vanished. No idea where they went. Seen as how it occurred around the same time I gave up being terminally negative (blame Sara… I know I was much cuter before), I’m sure they’re somehow related. Good riddance, though.
Not that the events of the last year haven’t brought their own unique facets to my life. But that’s a long discussion for another time.
So yeah… about the concert. Okay: 1) Crap music. 2) Expensive 3) No spontaneity 4) Too long. The only thing really making me want to go was to take pictures of people being crazy. But it doesn’t come anywhere near balancing out the other crap.
But I gotta hit the Market in the morning, anyway. Still have to find a present for my father.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I’m trying to find a way to tell the people I love–friends and family–that they really aren’t helping me. I’ve re-written this entry three times so far, starting from scratch with each attempt.
So I work for myself now. I’ve been at it for about two-thirds of a year, and things aren’t so bad. I have a little money in the bank. (Hopefully there will still be some left after I file taxes). I have a few new toys. I go out with my friends and have fun. I eat a little too much. At this exact point, I have taken everything good from my life before, and thrown out everything that was bad.
It doesn’t come without it’s share of hard work and mental anguish. I have several friends who tell me they have their own businesses. For most of them though, it means doing freelance projects in their off hours. I, myself, did exactly that for a long time. But even discounting the legal and regulatory differences, it’s really not the same. It’s kind of like going on a blind date versus getting married. The difference in dedication and responsibility is amazing. It’s impossible to even imagine before you go ahead and do it.
In the movies, this would be where I tell you how all my friends and family were wonderful; rallying around me. If only. In reality, the almost universal response* has been to question my decision, and openly wonder how long I could last. The short response, from me, to this is: I don’t need it. My own inner demons provide plenty of doubt and worry. I don’t need to hear you inquiring as to the likelihood of my failure as casually as you would critique my clothes.
Express ‘interest’. Ask me how things are going. None of you has enough details to criticize the actual business, and therefor to have any reason for worry. And even if you did… when has friendship and family been about anything other than unconditional support. If you really felt the need to intervene, there are intelligent, meaningful ways to do it. But in the meantime, if you glibly ponder wether I’m enjoying myself while it lasts, I may just tell you to go fuck yourself.
* I say “almost everyone” because, as always, one of my friends stands out different. They know who they are, and they’ve never been anything but what I need. While writing this, I also remembered one relative who also stood out; offering to help me whatever way they could.
—
I won’t deny that I like money. When a client sent me a payment for $10,000 a while back, I Xeroxed that fucker before depositing it. But I definitely think there’s got to be something more driving you, if you’re going to stick with anything like your own company. And nothing makes me feel better than making my clients happy. Not just satisfied… but happy. How often do you hear “God damn, you’re doing a good job!”? At my last job, it was just about never. In a good year, I might hear a single, rather Prozac-ian “We’re glad you’re here.” But since starting my own business, I’ve had a hell of a lot of messages from exuberant clients:
“that fucking rocks!” –J.G.
“I LOVE the second version! Let’s go with that one!” –A.P.
“Got the files and they look great” –R.C
“excellent!” –D.F.
“My husband loves the invitation.” –D.M.
“Got the banner yesterday…Looks great!!!” –R.C.
“Thanks….This looks great.” –J.B.
“Thanks….it looks beautiful. Great work! I’m amazed at all the links you found!” –S.M.
“That looks GREAT!” –R.C.
… and so on.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!