Overwork is overwork. Whether the work is fun or not.
It's midnight, on my day off (planned in advance, to allow for potential hangover from last night's gig/dancing shenanigans)... and I've just finished off the freelance work I needed to get done. On my day off. Because it's freelance, y'see, not real work.
Aye, the extra pocket money's nice, and aye, the clients are mates and great ones at that, and aye, the work's fun stuff... but shit, I'd like to have some time off sometime, y'know?
Feels at times like I'm constantly either working, eating, or being drunk watching dodgy rock bands. I guess it's not a bad old life, but where's the time for kickin' back with my lady?
Meh. Middle-class angst. Or creative-class angst. I dunno.
Fuck it, I made pretty things today, so all is right with the world.
It's midnight, on my day off (planned in advance, to allow for potential hangover from last night's gig/dancing shenanigans)... and I've just finished off the freelance work I needed to get done. On my day off. Because it's freelance, y'see, not real work.
Aye, the extra pocket money's nice, and aye, the clients are mates and great ones at that, and aye, the work's fun stuff... but shit, I'd like to have some time off sometime, y'know?
Feels at times like I'm constantly either working, eating, or being drunk watching dodgy rock bands. I guess it's not a bad old life, but where's the time for kickin' back with my lady?
Meh. Middle-class angst. Or creative-class angst. I dunno.
Fuck it, I made pretty things today, so all is right with the world.