Plumbing the depths

Oh boy. I just cooked myself a huge dinner and now I’m replete and dozy. Today has been a good day. Lots of opportunities. Two interesting future projects kicking off. And a quote for the boiler the burnt my eyebrows off. I’ve said yes. On Monday someone will come round the flat, do lots of things with chemicals and circuit boards, and leave with Christmas. It comes and it goes. insha’Allah.

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I’m relaxing now. It doesn’t help that the meeting I had earlier involved a bottle of wine at 3pm. But it was worth it as there’ll be lovely work in a few weeks as a result of the meeting. The wine was optional, but felt like the right thing at the time.

I want a bath. I feel stinky. The dude downstairs in my block keeps asking if I’m alright. I don’t want anyone to get too close to me in case I gas them. And I’ve just come off an intensive job. There’ll always be a slump. I’m telling him I’m fine, because I am. But I’m also, inevitably, not fine. I’ve chosen a strange existence. Feast and famine. Bouts of frantic activity, followed by the opposite. Regular money coming in, followed by the plumber dancing out the window with it all just when the final tranche lands.

The problem with ending a job is that your immune system allows itself to collapse, after working hand over fist to get the show on. I’ve been snotty Scrooge for the last two weeks, but now I understand that my body was fighting bronchial Scrooge, knowing full well that if I spent all night coughing I wouldn’t be able to talk. Now I’m coughing constantly, which always scares me as I had double pneumonia and my lungs collapsed when I was a kid. But I’ll be fine as long as I look after myself. Two more days of living in a cold flat and then I can put the heating on and have a bath and I’ll just have to give my firstborn to the electricity company in recompense.

Brian just got home and asked if I was okay too. It’s been such a positive day. It really isn’t every day you get two lovely jobs thrown in your direction, particularly in this game. Neither came for free. One involved a recorded pitch when I was vocally exhausted and cat-sitting miles away from my home studio. I recorded it at midnight, shattered and over it, but somehow – against the odds – it did the trick. The other involved two consecutive days in prosthetic make-up and a neck brace connecting with the part of me that might have grown up to wrap a sports car around a tree. 5 years later and the director wants to collaborate on a lovely poetic short.

In fact, the time since I came off this job has been almost unremittingly positive. I’m just tired and grouchy, sick again, plus a bit cold. And I had half a bottle of wine before 6pm which is lethal.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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