Yesterday, I completed my first interview, by which I mean my first interview in which I was the interviewee and not the interviewer. Despite the relative anonymity of the correspondent in question (a friend of a friend who’s writing a blog about writing), the experience was rather surreal. I found myself saying things like, “I can squeeze you in at 12:30 before my date at 1:00,” and “I’m going to have to put you on hold for just a sec while I order my drink.” (It was a phone interview, I was at Starbucks and thanks to my late-night date night on Monday, I was in desperate need of caffeine).
When did I become that person?
The entire experience got me thinking: what advice would I give to would-be writers? And what does a typical day look like for a freelancer?
“I’m extremely blessed,” I explained. “I teach part time and I write part time and I make just enough to make ends meet. Most people don’t have that luxury!”
And it is luxurious… sometimes. But then there are days when I can’t help but envy those women who blitz through Rittenhouse Square on their lunch breaks without worrying about how they’re going to tell the guy they went out with last night that they’re going out with someone else for lunch, or how to tell the guy they’re meeting for lunch that they will eventually need him to sign a release form.
To make matters worse, I received an email from Expedia Travel Services earlier this week reminding me of my upcoming flight. To Florida. Tomorrow. I’m giving a paper at the Congress on Research and Dance Special Topics Conference at FSU and although the paper’s written (technically speaking, seeing as I’m presenting on the subject of my MA Dissertation) my Powerpoint is non-existent and I can’t exactly read my 20,000 word dissertation in twenty minutes so even though I have a paper written, it’s not the right paper.
My column is due in just a few hours, I’ve got choreography to clean up in response to the judge’s comments this past weekend, I still need to pack for Florida and figure out what the heck I’m going to say, how I’m getting from the airport to the hotel and from the hotel to the conference (and, even more importantly, what I’m going to wear) and as if that’s not bad enough, now I’ve got the Bovary-loving bachelor asking me “Am I just an editorial assignment, Kat?”
What’s a girl to do? And don’t even get me started on the unread emails piling up in my inbox or the fact that I am coming down with a cold again.
I feel like I haven’t slept in days (perhaps because I’ve developed a rather unfortunate habit of waking up at 5:00am and trying to figure out how to reconcile writing about dating with, you know, actually dating). I haven’t even written about my date to Fork (the flowers were just the tip of iceberg) or my date with He-whom-is-not-taller-than-me-in-heels, which occurred over lunch yesterday, and I feel like I’m one broken nail away from a complete meltdown.
So yes, on days like these, I envy those of you reading this blog from the relative comfort of a desk job, one say that doesn’t involve 86 different students and eight different supervisors. I’ve never worked 9-5 and I don’t think I ever could, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I did.