Sometimes when I see office workers eating some tacos Carnitas or run from a Red Bull to Oxxo the corner, I feel a tingling in his stomach. I live in an area office, I guess: the employees are from here to there, with their ties and heels and dresses tailors. Subway to go corporate. Corporate Fonditos the little hair. Fonditos the hair of a little café in the fourth category. Go smoke a cigarette with Susana Romualdo of Auditors and the Finance. Chismecitos comment about the office: who goes with whom, who wants to sleep with whom, who will run for sleep with whom and who will ascend to sleep with whom.
And sometimes, when under my clothes to the laundry or to move to fourth grade for coffee frapuchino a medium decaf, I like to imagine that I have to run back to the office because uuuuh My boss scolds me …
And then I remember that I’m freelance. And something inside me is chips, breaks like glass cut, melts in shame and self-pity. I am not employed. I have no benefits. I have no timetable.
Work at home. No one watches me. I have no reason to chat secretly, not down all the time by a hyper-sugary chuncho as an excuse to give me the sun. I curse the boss because the boss is me (well not up to the frílans have bosses, but they are back in their offices and do not give a peanut garapiñado by us). I can work in your underwear, if you work outside in their underwear and my desire not an extrapolation of me wishes that television has imposed since 1992 when I began to understand what he saw on the idiot box.
The friendly side I can make appointments at unusual hours. Go to a movie matinee feature. Putting my clothes Vel Rosita. Get up late. Eating in front of the computer. Tell the boss that I am very tight and spend the afternoon reading in the gossip Perez Hilton and then “sniff” coca to have a “rush” of adrenaline and work as a robot until 4.30 AM (oh: you know that I put drugs, except heroin and peyote and LSD).
In fact, I dislike. Last night I dreamed that he returned to the agency, but not the area that was fun and Cheil where the lounge peloteo anyone with an Xbox and a few puffs using hyper-comfortable where I missed a few, and that clandestine siestecitas … but the Samsung empire. Korean leaders have idiots who reeks of garlic and ate with his mouth open and ended every sentence with the “ooooo-ooo-oooh” usual. And it was horrible: the prospect of a life cloistered in office hours and with all eyes on me and my behavior and my monitor and my attire.
I woke up with a rattle.
The only thing that takes me about want to mourn is the idea that my house is no longer that of the rest and recreation site used to be when the office and other buildings were in school and elsewhere. Arriving exhausted at night does not sit to watch TV while disconnected link each neuron and brain. In most cases, means that I have work to do and I will sit in front of my Wenceslas, eat gum drops, black tea, tuitearé tirelessly and curse the gods while advance tortuous.
And then, in this particular universe frílans, time expands and acquires autonomy no longer obeys its own rules, but to other, less friendly, more elusive … but also more mouldable. The possibility of establishing a timetable itself requires a discipline that, at least I simply do not have. Hence, any delay, any acquirer of dye in the morning of the deadline and stormy, and that everything happens in a parallel reality.
Hopefully all of the freelance world join us. They demanded the government and society more infrastructure: I am not referring to the cafes, restaurants and subway seats usually where we conduct our work. I refer to a universal office where illustrators, writers, journalists, programmers, artists, merchants and artists congregate to feel more a little bit what are the hours and orderly life. An office where coffee flavor sock, card entry, a receptionist inept and departure time at 6 o’clock, to go walking in the rain at the bus stop or subway entrance with a sense of duty fulfilled.