What a couple of crappy days I’ve had. Sucky, awful, stinking days. Yechh. I want to run away and join the circus, except I hate clowns and elephants and tents creep me out.
First I got a phone call from an editor who was rather pissed that I hadn’t heeded our “phone conversation” about details to change on a sweater or referred to the sketch she’d sent. As I was very diplomatically trying to assure her that I had no memory of such a conversation and at the same time being totally honest with her that – the way my memory is these days – it’s possible that I really don’t remember our conversation her assistant found the sketch she thought she’d sent me with the notes on it that she’d mistakenly thought she’d discussed with me on the phone. She apologized – all was “forgiven” (even though I really hadn’t done anything wrong) and she told me that, even though the mistake wasn’t mine, I’d have to re-do the section of the sweater that was in question and resend it to her. Of course I swallowed hard and said, “Sure!” I hate myself. I hate what freelancing has turned into.
Then today, after working for over a month on a series of projects for a knitting book that I was approached about working on (is that even a sentence?) I get an email two days before the photo shoot for the dummy book telling me that my aesthetic isn’t quite what she, the book packager, was looking for. Great. I’d only sent her images of the projects two weeks ago and had been spending the time since then furiously finishing up two other projects that she said she wanted to photograph. If only she could have let me know as soon as I sent her the pix – or could have let me know in a way that didn’t sound like she thinks I should be designing toilet paper covers for McCalls. Hell, maybe I should.
I feel like crap. Crap, crap, crap.