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Doing The Hustle
Feb. 22nd, 2008 03:19 pmThe other night, as I slept, I plunged into this long, elaborate dream; I was in some alternative country – a utopian free economic zone, very Neal Stephenson - that was having its occasional competition to identify its new philosopher-king leader type. I was helping a friend of mine try to become this new leader by obtaining things, finding information, and other classic Quest activities. Along the way, it became clear that she really had it in for me, and that I had been expected to die at a certain stage on the Quest. I didn’t, though I did recognize what was going on and back away from the false friend. Finally, the new leader of the utopian free economic zone was announced, and it was me – they’d noticed who was actually doing the Quest. I was surprised; I wasn't expecting it; they had to come and get me out of the shower; I wound up wearing that pink bath sheet again. I wonder what the psychic significance is of those pink bath sheets? Why do they keep signifying victory to my subconscious?
It was pleasant – I always wanted to be Philosopher-Queen. But now that I write it down, it seems disturbingly like the ultimate wish-fulfilment of codependency: that you are recognized and elevated for all the wonderful things you’ve been doing for other people.
The dream, pink bathtowel and all, seems to be a mental distillation of all the professional hustling I’ve been doing over the past two and a half months, both at my main job and freelancing. I wanted some fresh experiences, and some more money, though I was happy to cut to the chase and accept the things money could buy. I never really tried to sell myself before, outside of a job interview, and I’m amazed at how receptive and trusting people are. And that they'll accept what I say I'm worth.
Now I have a moment to catch my breath. The freelance stuff I've been doing is pretty much done. And I just acquired a roommate for the next 2 months, a friend's husband who is in Wellington working on a contract. So, as valuable as it has been, I don't have to hustle for a bit, and I can concentrate more on the novel. He's a good enough friend himself that I can say to him, "Go away, I'm writing," and he's an introvert himself, so he's simpatico with my need for some space and quiet.
It was pleasant – I always wanted to be Philosopher-Queen. But now that I write it down, it seems disturbingly like the ultimate wish-fulfilment of codependency: that you are recognized and elevated for all the wonderful things you’ve been doing for other people.
The dream, pink bathtowel and all, seems to be a mental distillation of all the professional hustling I’ve been doing over the past two and a half months, both at my main job and freelancing. I wanted some fresh experiences, and some more money, though I was happy to cut to the chase and accept the things money could buy. I never really tried to sell myself before, outside of a job interview, and I’m amazed at how receptive and trusting people are. And that they'll accept what I say I'm worth.
Now I have a moment to catch my breath. The freelance stuff I've been doing is pretty much done. And I just acquired a roommate for the next 2 months, a friend's husband who is in Wellington working on a contract. So, as valuable as it has been, I don't have to hustle for a bit, and I can concentrate more on the novel. He's a good enough friend himself that I can say to him, "Go away, I'm writing," and he's an introvert himself, so he's simpatico with my need for some space and quiet.
