“I feel like shit… I hope you’re satisfied”, said yours truly only a short while ago.
But times change and now, I think, I am over the worst of the brain draining, seratonin sapping downer of illness and claustrophobia that I had suffered. The weather is better, the brain clearer, people look happier, and the milk carton has recently opened without covering my crotch in the creamy white fluid contained therein. Things are looking up.
And what better way to enter the new world than with a big fat invoice sent to my first clients in my new entrepreneurial freelancing life of freedom and promise. The trailblazer I follow is our very own Groover, and I would like to join the revolution, slapping the fat-cat enslavers in the face with a large halibut-shaped baseball bat that says “fuck you – I know how good I am, you ain’t going to live off my efforts any more you management-speak talking, irritating suited monkeys!” Because frankly, the risk is what makes it interesting, makes you feel alive and happy to work your arse off. Because every single piece of effort, every night spent tapping away, every bit of creative genius is yours! All of it is going to you! And it makes you proud, happy, and keen to do all the things that you previously felt like a whore doing.
Bolo could even become a new hub for a network of mutually supportive geniuses, trailblazing the path to ethically sound, collectively beneficial services for those who really need a hand… a hand that does not rinse them.
What gives, young breaker of steins?
girls, plague, booze. They all conspire to relieve me of grey matter.
It sounds like a good idea. A league of idle freeloaders conspiring for glory.
Seriously though, I heartily recommend the gleaming shores of freelancery. The fear of starvation, makes getting up in the morning and doing some work, a workable proposition.