If it was fun, they'd call it play.

So how about that? No sooner do I say I'll restart the blog when work fills up my week. Well, it's good, but it's also bad, because if I'm not writing it means I have no spare time, and indeed that's how I've felt. Work has been -- well, you can guess. 

While I was taking my recent leave -- of my senses -- I actually got into a regrettable scrape with one of my freelance clients. I'd done work for them before, always for a flat fee. Watch out for that flat fee, boys and girls; it is seldom a good deal. Nevertheless, I liked the people and the work, so even though they didn't pay that well I was willing to take the job again, cleaning up copy. 

Well, everything went wrong. You see, they were no longer using the same writers as in the past, and the new one was terrible. This caused me to spend about twice as much time on the project as in the past. We know time is many things, including:

• fleeting
• relative
• of the essence

But most important, time is 

• money

So when they told me I had to go back and make changes in part of the job I'd already returned, I lost my temper. These changes were caused by stylebook decisions they'd recently made, something I had forgotten about, and I argued that they had pushed me to minimum wage already and I was about to sink below that. They responded that they were sorry I was unhappy and it was best if we part ways.

The next day I sent an e-pology, and wished them luck. I do not like blowing my stack and take no pleasure in it. But I wouldn't work for them again even if they'd have me, which they wouldn't.

So that was one client down. 

This week has been a whole other kettle of crap, but I'm glad that the memory of regret for letting my anger get the better of me is still fresh. I'm way too old to expect anything good to come of tantrums.