May 1/Scope. Panic. Second Invoice.
Sending an invoice means asserting that your time is worth something, which is a more confrontational position than it sounds.
— from the desk, with coffee ☕Jana's agency. Day eight.
I found a fifth folder. 'Clients Final FINAL.' This is not a surprise. This is a genre.
I raised my first invoice as The Clean Slate. It sat in my outbox for forty minutes, because sending an invoice means asserting that your time is worth something, which is a more confrontational position than it sounds.
Jana paid within 24 hours. I stared at the bank notification for longer than was strictly necessary.
Marcus asked why I seemed 'unusually settled.' I told him I'd been meditating. This is not true. I have been invoicing. I find invoicing considerably more calming than meditation, which probably says something about me that I'll file for examination at a later date. Perhaps in a folder called 'Personal Final FINAL.'
My mother called. I told her about the second invoice. She asked if I'd thought about health insurance. I had not. I am thinking about it now. I may need to light a candle myself.
Today's weight
26 people have also had an invoice sit in the outbox.