Yesterday, I made the final delivery of the book I was working on, a ghost project that no one will ever know I wrote. The family of the subject raved about what I had written, and I confess my ego kicked up a bit, and I wished that the world could know I'd done this. It turned out well. I supposed I should just be happy that my subject is happy. This anonymous role is, after all, the deal I agreed to. So now it's time to call in the next project from a benevolent universe. This freelance life is a relentless walk of faith.
On the good side, I'm going to Ikea with my kids today, and that should be fun. My daughter is looking for full time work and my son is in the gap between quitting his last job two weeks ago and waiting for the notice from the FDNY (and Oh Lord, it had better come), so we're all free as bluejays. My poor husband is toiling away, but the rest of us are reimagining our living spaces.
My son wants to get an entertainment wall unit for his room, which makes me think he's getting quite cosy in there. My daughter wants to look for a bed frame for when she moves into her own apartment. And I want to look at kitchens. I am dreaming about redoing mine. It is hard to commit funds to such a large scale project when your paycheck is intermittent, however. Still, I'm gonna dip my toe in the water, see what things would cost, see what I might like.
Of course, if I'm thinking of redoing the falling apart kitchen, I'd also have to paint the whole place and rethink the battered living room furniture. The sprucing up endeavor just snowballs.
But I can dream.