Blog-a-job February 7, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
I think I’m going to have to get a job. A real one. A 9-to-5-er. I’m sure they have their merits. Firstly, there’s the sanity, which is to be much prized. Getting out of the house and having to talk to Jenny from personnel or Darren from accounts is a surefire way of keeping Alzheimer’s at bay, I’m convinced. Then there’s the regular income and, presumably, knowing you’ll be able to pay your bills on time. That must be a comfort. I recommend all freelancers to employ a heavy at the start of their “careers”. Not getting paid promptly is the scourge of all us freelancing types. Having done your scrap of work, you want to be paid your honest crust without having to send 100 e-mails and make 40 phone calls for it. (Actually, even we get to talk to Darren from accounts occasionally.)
But, anyway, this is all peripheral stuff. The most important thing, I think, about having a regular 9-to-5-er must be the blogging windows. Trouble is with this freelancing lark that either you have quiet periods, in which case you feel too guilty to blog, or you’re rushed off your feet, and don’t have the option. It’s so rarely just right. For some reason, I’m imagining a nice office job would provide the perfect blogging environment. I have no real evidence for this, except I suspect a number of blogs I read are written in the workplace – this could easily be bollocks – and judging from e-mail lore, I know that there’s not a cat in hell’s chance of getting one from most people outside office hours.
And then I love to blog. I’m prepared to sacrifice the great freedoms of being my own boss, of being able to get enough sleep, of not having to herd myself on to public transport for the sake of a good dose of bloggage. I could hardly enjoy my (actually very enjoyable) hol on the other side of the world for thinking of all the blogging I could be doing. (None of which has come to fruition, natch.) And the quality of my work no doubt suffers when it precludes bloggery as all I’m thinking is of dashing through it as quick as poss so I can write a few words of piffle once I’m done. (This reminds me of one of those other wicked addictions I used to – he says, lyingly – suffer from: smoking. I began to notice that I had stopped enjoying food and was racing through it so I could have the post-prandial fag. The sacrilege!) So I need to get a job. Hmm.
Truth be told, I’ve been thinking I should get a real job for about 4 or 5 years now. Freedom, like comfort, no doubt, ultimately becomes addictive. And I have actually got the Russian at home so Alzheimer’s isn’t really the imminent threat I claim it to be. And then job ads make the whole process that much more discouraging. If a job ad nicely said, “Nice chap required to sit around and do something languagey for us,” I’d dash for the phone. But when they claim I have to be a team-player and have good something-or-other skills and be able to cope with pressure, I think, “Maybe I’ll put it off for another millennium or so”. Which is not to say – much – I don’t have all those skills. I’m almost half-convinced I might easily have them, or one of them, but having to go and convince a putative Jenny-from-personnel of those qualities in the flesh… Well, I think I’d probably just laugh – or puke – in her face.
Plus, no-one’s got a job in Berlin anyway, have they? I’d love to be headhunted for something solitary, lazy and fantastically well-paid. My first job in Russia did mostly involve just drinking tea and gossiping, which was fun, but it wasn’t solitary and didn’t pay much, to put it mildly. But I’m sure that opportunity of a lifetime is just around the corner. Blog-checker. Blog-reviewer. Blog-writer. Something like that. And when it comes, I’m going to blog like mental. Just you wait and see…
OK, back to my red wine (and post-prandial…).