In light of Mandela Day tomorrow, I wanted to write a blog post that would be somewhat lighter in heart, and in content also.
I hope you don’t mind my over familiarity, but during the many, many weeks of unrequited correspondence from me to you practically begging for the payment we agreed upon, I feel like we’ve grown close enough for us to toss around a couple of pet names.
It’s always sunshine and roses when you meet a new freelance client for this first time. They tell you what they want, you tell them what you think they want to hear and there are a few, beautiful, shining moments where you both believe that the two of you were brought together by fate to create something magical, or at least, marketable. It’s like a first date where one of you really hopes to get paid for doing what the other person wants…
Most days it doesn’t bother me, but occasionally I’ll find myself sitting in traffic behind some seemingly reasonable fellow motorist who will, for no discernible reason, will wind down their window and then casually toss their sweet wrapper, chip packet or similar junk-food debris into the road.