I uploaded a whole bunch of concepts to the database for the guy I’m freelancing for and he wrote me a very ambiguous “Hey, let’s talk” email which has filled me with all kinds of anxiety because that means he didn’t like them. If he did like them, he would have said so. There’s nothing I can do about it now. I just hope that it’s not too bad. He gave us very little direction, so I guess it can’t be helped.
I’m trying not to get too stressed about it and remind myself that stuff like this happens ALL THE TIME. Nobody can like everything that I do. That’s just not possible. Art school was all about critique, critique, critique. Everyone tore your stuff up all the time.
I just worry that he’s not going to like this and then he’s not going to like the next thing and then he’s going to end my contract. Freelancing is all about pleasing people. Please people is so hard to do.
I’m trying not to think about it but I can’t seem to stop. :/
I know it’s wasted energy, focusing on this. I won’t know what he thinks until I talk to him. It might not even be that bad. Or maybe I’ll have to start over from scratch. I don’t know. That’s it, I just can’t know until sometime tomorrow.
This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me panic for a full time job. Someone wouldn’t fire me over this.
If I could just make some freaking money I wouldn’t have to fear about every negative comment.
I don’t think about my future anymore. I used to day dream about it, what I’d be doing, where I’d be working. Now it’s just too bleak to imagine. When I think about ten years from now, I imagine myself destitute. Or just not alive. I just don’t see how someone like me is going to make it. The other day I had this macabre thought about how I should start cleaning out my stuff now and making contingency planes for the moment I keel over dead unexpectedly like my dad did.
Sometimes I wonder if he had a life online, are there people we didn’t know about who wonder about him and where he’s gone, not knowing that he’s dead? He did travel a lot. He spent all his time on the computer or in front of the tv.
I’ve been thinking so much about him lately, about how he’s dead. I just can’t seem to get over that fact. It’s weird. He died two years ago and for some reason the last few weeks, it’s just on my mind. I’m walking in the hall in my apartment, My dad died, I’m eating yogurt, Dad would have liked this but he’s dead, I’m cooking eggs, Dad made great eggs but not anymore.
Sorry if I keep talking about him. I know it’s depressing and awful and who wants to read about that, but I think I’m going to have to talk about him for a little while yet. He’s somehow tangled up in my job woes, in my sad, pathetic practically non existent little career. Dad was kind of proud of me, but it was in that way that you’re proud of a five year old for making you dinner It’s the best she could do, she tried. My parents were shocked that I could anything at all, that I could function as a human being without their constant. They have such a low opinion of me and my abilities that they were surprised I could order a soda on my own (Yes, this is an actual example my mother relayed to me that my father said when I told them I was moving to Cali to go to grad school— they did not think I would do it).
Sometimes it feels like my unresolved issues with my dad are the root of everything. He was such an overbearing influence in my life, everything had to be for him, that I am still discovering things I did and quirks I have that were solely to please him.