Lately, I've been freelancing. From home.
This means that I'm doing everything from our big table - cold calling, producing radio, rewriting copy and doing conference calls - while Heather is in the house.
Theoretically, this should be fine, but occasionally, as happened today, she'll ask me question like, "What would you like for dinner?" and I'm in the middle of doing something else - editing, whatever.
At the moment, I'm not interested in being pampered.
So my answer is a little petulant. And non-committal: I don't know. What do you want?
Today, she interpreted it as resentment that she hasn't found work. She's worried about people not calling her back. She's feeling trapped by the apartment. By our always narrow circumstances. By her pregnancy - our pregnancy.
Of course, I don't mean to do this. I'm stressed out too. About all the same things. And my answer isn't to place my energy where she does - but elsewhere. Which is easier for me since I'm a writer. I can write whether or not someone hires me. I can always work on the script a little longer, a little harder.
Acting isn't so easy. And even less so when you're pregnant.
Last night, we played tennis and went for a drive along Mulholland. But we can't do that every night.
What to do... What to do.... besides give up and become a lawyer.
No one said it would be easy, but it's these little stubs that worry me the most.
At night.
ps. this is amazingly COOL.
3 comments:
A very dear friend of mine just had an interesting experience. The way he tells it his marriage was put in jeopardy for the first time ever by just three words that were repeated once too often!
He had to have a triple bypass and was home recovering. This was the first time in his career that he had ever worked from home, and when he was working he traveled so much he was even less used to being home than most of us.
He went against his doctor's orders and returned to work earlier than he should have. Why? Because he said he began to feel differently about his wife because, although he had a separate room in which to work, every time the phone rang her head would appear around the door and ask "Who was that?"
He said to me "It was get back to the office or get divorced!" And he was only half joking. This man loves his wife, I know that. But it's further proof that trying to combine love and work is a tough task.
My suggestion? Make full use of coffee houses with free wi-fi. A little space between home and work is always good.
Another friend of mine in England once built a garden shed, got up every morning and dressed for work, walked down his garden and into his shed and didn't come out until lunch time. If his wife needed him she had to phone the shed and ask what time he'd be home!!
Keep smiling you pair! Life finds a way. Lawyers look back on their lives and see that they created nothing but conflict. You've both already created things of artistic value. And that's something.
I'm not quite sure I'm ready to build a shed and install a phone.
Mostly I'm just trying to recognize that we're both making a big adjustment. And she can't walk away from the biggest part of the adjustment. She's always pregnant, wherever she goes.
She's so so good to me. And I know so little about what's good for me that I really have to take the blinders off occasionally.
And that a lot of my reactions to things are built around my own financial insecurities.
Partly this blog has been good for recognizing those things and simply working all that out.
H is very very patient with me. Thank god!
I didn't mean to suggest that either of my stories are directly pertinent to you and Heather...no need for sheds or anything else!
But, as those other guys learned in their own ways, it is hard to do everything from home. I know I need my little escapes - I have an almost Monk-like affliction of not being able to write if someone is in the room! Any one. Probably why most of my songs are written at 2am !
Any way, it'll all work out - just keep reading that poetry to the bump! Give each other space when you can, and enjoy all the wonderful little reunions.
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